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Elizabeth of England 

a Bramattc Romance 

IN FIFE PARTS 
BY 

N. S. Shaler 


PROFESSOR OF GEOLOGY IN HARVARD UNIVERSITY 


I. The Coronation 

II. The Rival Queens 

III. Armada Days 

IV. The Death of Essex 

V. The Passing of the Queen 


The 

Passing of the 
Queen 

By 

N. S. Shaler 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 
Houghton, Mifflin and Company 
C&e Ktberafoe Cambtfoffe 
1903 


THE LIBRARY OF 
CONGRESS, 

Two Copies Received 

NOV 1 iso? 

Copyright Entry 

0~ vt 3 0-t^C3 
CLASS «- XXa No. 

7 / ^ ^ <o 

COPY A. 




COPYRIGHT I9O3 BY N. S. SHALER 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 
PUBLISHED NOVEMBER I9O3 


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PROLOGUE 


HERE is no action in this final act, 
No doing of brave deeds ; the hearts 
are still 

That beat as sounding drums when up 
the hill 

We marched to victories. The scene's a tract 
Of moors all blossomless with lonely ways 
Mid pitiless storms, whereon the Lord doth will 
The soul unchastened wander while it fill 
With hunger for His peace. Yet its sad days 
Share of the heaven's splendour ; though no bloom 
Or dance of youth, or tread of soldier’s feet 
Light its hard fields, its stunted herbs are sweet 
And to the silent footfalls send perfume 
As halting age slow creeps unto its goal 
To find there Christ awaiting for its soul. 



t 



DRAMATIS PERSONAE 


Archbishop of Canterbury. 
Lord Howard. 

Sir Robert Carey. 

Sir Robert Cecil. 

Sir Harry Compton. 

Sir John Spencer. 

Sir Walter Ralegh. 
Speaker of Commons. 
Francis Bacon. 

Priest. 

Physician. 

Player. 

Keeper of Hatfield House. 
Lieutenant of Tower. 
Officer. 

Chamberlain. 

Usher. 

Robin. 

Tom Fielding. 



Barnard j 

Old John, Servant of the Queen. 
Giles, a Farmer . 

Old Man. 


Dramatis Personae 


Biron. 

Queen Elizabeth. 

Lady in Waiting. 

Wife of^Robin. 

Tire-woman. 

Dame Fielding. 

+ Old Woman. 

Child. 

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court , Officers , 
Citizens , Soldiers , Servants , etc. 



The Passing of 
the Queen 

ACT FIRST 

SCENE I 

London Streets. 

Queen in procession with Cecil by her . Pause in 
the course . 

Elizabeth. 

ERE went we, Cecil, in that yesterday 
To take our crown. Oh, then it 
seemed so fair, 

So jewelled with the memories of deeds 
And glint of deeds to do ! You mind that day, 
For then you were beside us, young and brave. 

Yet wise for all our needs. 

Cecil. 



Ah, my dear Queen — 



2 


The Passing of the Queen 
Eliz. Alas ! it was thy sire, — ’t is long ago ! 
Yet in our ears there rings the shout of joy 
When they beheld their lass come as their lord ; 

It drowned the clamour of all London’s bells, 
Shook that girl’s heart and filled her with strange 
fear, — 

For love too may be fearful, — sent her on 
Unto her weary task with heart to toil 
For all her loving folk. — But now they ’re still 
And lowering look on us. What doth it mean ? 

Cecil. My liege, it is another folk than then, 
With other solemn joys. ’T is, as you ’ve said. 
Long time ago. A realm may wax as man 
Out of its youth to age, — change, yet be true 
To all its nobler self. 

Eliz. We would not have 

Our people mourn and old ; we ’ll speak to 
them. 

[To People .] Heed ye, dear folk, we ’re here to see 
ye glad 

As when we went this way to be your Queen. 
Where are the dancers and the merry songs. 

The flowers for our way, the welcoming 
Of eyes that loved us then? 

Blind Old Man. Hail, England’s lass ! 

I cannot see ye more, and yet I see 


The Passing of the Queen 3 
That day ye came to save us. Know, dear Queen, 
The parsons are the matter, — they have preached 
The life of us away. 

Eliz. [aside to Old Man]. Ay, man, , t is true 
The killjoys have our folk. [To Throng .] Is it for 
this 

The woman God set o’er ye gave her life ? 

Think ye it was for bauble of a crown 

She spared ye strokes to take them on her soul. 

Stayed barren stock and withered to her age ? 

Nay, ye mum dolts, it was to make ye glad. 

To have her folk the merriest of earth, 

Go blithely on from cradle to the grave. — 

Out on ye, tombstones of your blessed sires. 

Ye lack your living for the fear of death 
And shame the Lord who sent ye to this land 
Made for your blessing. 

Voice. Give our Essex back 

And we will shout again. 

Eliz. Ay, would I could. 

And we would shout together in our joy 
And share the shame of it. Ye know right well 
He went for England’s need. 

Blind Old Man \to Throng], Shame on yon 
knave : 

He knows as we our dear lord died for her 


4 The Passing of the Queen 

But blundered to his death ; — that she ’d glad give 

The heart that ’s in her for to win him back. 

Eliz. [to Blind Man]. Come hither, man. [ Tak- 
ing his hand.] Thy hand is hard with toil. 
Yet thou hast fitting heart to know a king’s. 

We thank thee for thy service. [To Peopled] Ay, 
my folk, 

That this man is of ye tells us faith holds 
Where we have found it in our sorry days. — 
Farewell, good people ; we ’ll not further go 
Upon this ancient way unto our crown. 

This is a weary woman, childless, old ; 

That crown was made of thorns. Farewell, fare- 
well ; 

Your Queen would know ye happy. 

[Acclaim from old people ; youths silent . 
Girl. Is that the Queen they tell of, she who 
went 

Fair as the May to crowning? Sure it is 
Her grandame, not herself. 

Blind Man. Go to, thine eyes 

Are blinder than mine own. Ay, her dear voice 
Tells her our England’s lass. It is the same 
That outsang lark upon that blessed day 
And gave our hearts the morning. 

Eliz. [to Cecil]. ’Tis farewell, Cecil. 


The Passing of the Queen 5 

Cecil. Dear liege, ’t is hail. Hail to anpther 
day 

Than that ye welcomed then ; yet V is the morn 
Of a fair day. Ye found this realm a child ; 

Ye Ve led it to its strength. It looks no more 
Upon its toys, but forth to far-off goals. 

Whereto ye Ve shown the way. 

Eliz. We planted for good harvest ; see ye, here 
Are fields of sorry tares. 

Cecil. Yea, my good liege. 

Our earth is wearied by the plenteous store 
We Ve shorn from it this age, and it must lie 
In the rude fallow of forgetfulness 
Ere it again yield corn. 

Eliz. Oh my Cecil, 

’T is very ill within this house of mine. 

The house which is my heart. It cannot stay 
If so its strength goes hopelessly to doom 
And leaves my people wearying and old. 

It must be mended or I hapless die. 

Leaving but ruins for the knaves to wreck 
Of all we J ve builded on the sands of time. 

Help me, good Cecil, that it be set right. 

Cecil. Live on, my liege, live on ; each day 
that sees 

Thy sun in our good sky helps ripe the grain 


6 The Passing of the Queen 
Of the brave harvest. Come what will, ’t is sure ; 
And its good seed shall sow a mighty realm 
Which none may trample down, the seed of men 
Who are your children, born of all your pangs, 
Nursed near your mother’s heart. 

Eliz. Ah, counselor, 

You sail the blessed sky save when you delve 
Like grubbing mole in earth. ’T is good to hear 
Your far-up song; now be with me the mole 
To delve to our foundations. There’s discontent 
That turns those stones to sand. What is to do ? 
Where is our mayor ? Bides he still alone 
To nurse his sore? 

Cecil. Ay, he lives still for that. 

Eliz. We would see Harry Compton ; send him 
here ; 

We ’ll find balm for that wound. Bring it about 
The Commons come to us. Belike they ’ll show 
This realm as sore as London and Sir John. 

We ’ll seek the physic, take the sorry dose 
With what content we may. — So see it done. 

[ Exit . 

Cecil. There is again the woman and the 
King. 


End of Scene. 


The Passing op the Queen 


7 


SCENE II 

Chamber of Queen at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth. 

Enter Sir Harry Compton. 
Elizabeth. Welcome, Sir Harry, we have sent 
for thee 

On a grave matter of our commonwealth. 

How is it in thy house ? 

Compton. My liege, that house 

Is but a little matter in your realm ; 

It is a narrow place. 

Eliz. Nay, my good knight. 

It hath a roof tree, and beneath it dwell 
Folk near to us, whose sorrows and whose joys 
Sum to a kingdom. We would know ye well 
And happy in your lot. 

Compton. Ah, then, my Queen, we ’re sad 
My dame comes to her time in sorrowing 
O’er parting with her sire. Of her dear home 
She has her mother’s grave ; of sometime wealth 
The scanty needs she patches. Yea, he’s hard: 
He turned her laden, pleading for her child 
She would have born within it, from his door 
And scoffed her as a beggar. 

Eliz. 


He ’s stiff necked ; 


8 The Passing of the Queen 

We 'll bend him, crook his knees to set her right. 

Or he shall have our throne. 

Compton. He 'd scout the Lord 

If He should bid him do it. 

Eliz. We'll not bid 

Nor beg, but take him in a gentle trap 
Set in himself. Ah, but we know him well 
In sundry myriads of our realm who make 
Ruling a torment till we know their shape, — 
Each one a pudding with scant plums of flint. 

The rest all dough. They 'd break a dragon's teeth, 
But with a little wit we cut them through. 
Compton. My mistress sets a riddle. 

Eliz. Let it stay 

Until it reads itself. Bring here the child — 

God send it be a lad and not a lass — 

With its fair mother for the christening, 

For we will be its gossip. Then we 'll see 
How 't is with Sir John's neck. Farewell, my 
knight ; 

Thy Queen 's half merry with what she will do 
With Sir Omnipotence of London town. 

Compton. And we 'll be merry in the hope you 
lend ; 

Unshaped it still is hope from our dear Queen, 

And that is all of promise to our hearts. 

End of Scene . 


9 


The Passing of the Queen 

SCENE III 

Council Room at Whitehall. 
Elizabeth and Cecil. 

Elizabeth. How with our Commons ? 

Cecil. They send here, my liege. 

The best of their estate to bear you thanks 
For your large purposes. 

Eliz. We wish them well 

And wish ourself well ridden of this task. — 

Ay, there ’s to be a shearing ; diverse rams 
Who ’ve found fat pastures in our fields shall be 
Shorn to the hide ; they ’ll know how winter 
bites. — 

We’ll find some wolves when shears have done 
their work 

Upon the monstrous fleeces. Look to one 
Who set him forth for wool a while ago 
And now shall hie back shorn. 

Cecil. Nay, he is wise 

And knows right well his part. The shears will 
leave 

Him faithful servant if they leave his bones. 

Eliz. Would he might nip, for there we ’d find 
him cure. 


io The Passing of the Queen 

Ah, he is wise, — that ’s sometimes trick of knaves 

And then their worst offence. 

Enter Usher. 

Usher. Your majesty, 

A message from your Commons. 

Eliz. Bid them here. 

Enter Deputation of Commons . 

Welcome, our faithful liegemen, say ye bring 
The good will of our people, so our heart 
May have its life anew. 

Speaker of Commons. Your majesty, 

Ye see here seven score of sturdy men 
Bearing that blessed burthen to your feet ; 

They lay it there, yet all is left behind 
Of our unbounded love. 

Eliz. ’T is bravely said; 

Ay, royally, to move the heart of king 
In service of his folk ; yea, with his life. 

Who could not be a king for such a crown. 

And lift his head, however sore it weighed, 

To gaze far o’er his land ? Help us to see 
Where we may strike or spare to make our own 
Richer wherein to live, wherein to die, 

To grace our cradles or to bless our graves. 

Speak from your hearts to ours. 

Speaker. 


Dear majesty. 


The Passing of the Queen ii 
Upon this tribute of our love we lay 
Prayer for our lives that we be no more rent 
By all the ravined wolves that on us come 
Sheltered by law. 

Eliz. Who be those hungry wolves ? 

The keeper of this fold hath use for them. 

Speaker. They be the host who with your 
patents armed, 

Against your justice and the right of God, 

Snatch all the earnings of your folk who toil 
So that nor land nor seas, though plentiful, 

May stay their hunger, give the mother milk 
To tend her babe, or man the strength to serve 
When ye shall need his service. 

Eliz. ’Sdeath ! ’t is true. 

They come to us as lambs, lean, famished lambs. 
Bleating for pasture, asking way to fields 
Where they may join our flock. Shame on our 
eyes. 

Old though they be, that saw not how the whelps 
Were hidden ’neath false hides. Their end is here ; 
We ’ll strip their fleeces, pluck their teeth, and send 
The brutes unto their kind. 

Speaker. Dear Queen, from knees 

Worn in our prayers to God your servants rise 
Knowing His grace is with them ; rise as men 


12 The Passing of the Queen 
Who long have bent as slaves. They see their 
throne 

In all the ancient splendour that your race. 

Our people’s lovers, gave it ; wait your will 
As folk who in your words have heard the Lord. 
Eliz. We ’re quick to ask your service for good 
pay,— 

Mayhap the last we ’ll ask, yea, and the best. 

Say to my people that I have tried to sway 
This commonwealth in justice, but there came 
Harpies and leeches who have sucked its blood. 
Help me to find them as ye here have helped ; 

And think not that these weary, trembling hands 
Lack strength to smite, for they are now made 
steel, 

Knowing they serve my people. Bear to them 
Love from their faithful lover ; say that she 
Doth hasten in the harvest of her years ; 

That if ’t is hers to sow afar, she ’ll take 
This common love for seed-corn of her fields 
And rear from it what maketh all true realms 
Of earth or heaven. Farewell. Though ye have 
brought 

A burthen to me, yet ye take away 

That which doth light my heart. [Exit Commons . 

[To Cecil.] Quick with this task: 


The Passing of the Queen 13 
We dare not sleep until the shears have done 
Their twin swords’ work. 

Cecil. My liege, this task needs time. 

Eliz. Time needs the task, for now my nights 
are dark 

And I must light them with the blessed sun 
Of a new morning. 

Cecil. Oh my liege, grave wrong . 

Will come of such swift deed. 

Eliz. A little wrong 

To spot a mighty right. Be swift with it. 

So that they know the stroke but when ’t is done ; 
It is a host we smite ; ’tis well the blow 
Come as a thunderbolt to strike them down 
Together in the pit. 

Cecil. This smiteth scores. 

Eliz. Each one ten thousand slays whom we 
must save. 

See, there the sun goes down ; this shall be done 
Before his orb is hid. 

Cecil. Nay, send for Puck 

And bid him do this service ; I ’m but man, 

And know no way unto it. 

Eliz. I ’m a king 

And know a monarch’s might. [Goes t0 her desk 
and writes swiftly .] See, here, ’t is done : 


14 The Passing of the Queen 
‘ All patents are revoked, all gains on way 
Unto their holders go back whence they came.’ 
Doth that read plain ? 

Cecil. Ay, it is clearly writ. 

Eliz. Fair signed ? 

Cecil. Fair signed and sealed. It is swift law, 
But law for that. It is a mighty deed. 

Eliz. [looking fortK \ . Go, sun, to rise upon a 
better day 

Than thou hast glowered o’er. — I will to bed 
And find its pillows soft. [ To Cecil.] Go, send 
this law — 

The Lord’s and mine — swift onward through the 
dark 

So my dear folk may wake and know their Queen 
Rode with the sun to them. — ’T is wondrous 
strange 

That ever I should welcome night again. [Exit. 
Cecil [alone]. The heavens send us marvels. 
Yesterday 

My mistress was so old the firm-set earth 
Could scarce upbear her weary load of years ; 
To-day she smites like Ajax on hot field, 

Knocks down our bravest houses as in play, 

And then betakes her happily to bed. — 

’T is done, — right nobly done, a faithful deed 


The Passing of the Queen 15 
That will breed faith afar. What it will send 
Here in her court we presently must find, 

Or meet perchance a tempest unprepared. 

Ralegh ’s the key to this ; I ’ll look to him. 

He ’s loyal still, though all his soul ’s a gale 
To speed his argosies. If he stays, we ’re safe ; 

If he doth move, she must straight to her folk 
And set her throne beside some kitchen fire 
Until her yokels settle this account 
As in the Tower’s day they set it right. — 

I will to him and find what is to do. 

End of Scene. 

SCENE IV 

Chamber of Ralegh. 

Ralegh ; afterwards Cecil. 

Ralegh [alone ] . This summeth well ; a hundred 
thousand pounds 

From Cornwall’s mines ; from patents on all corn 
As many more ; with this and that of tolls 
Paid by our country folk enough to swell 
The sum beyond our needs. In one year more 
Our ships may forth a hundred sail to win 
That empire of the west. Ay, we fare well : 

He ’s dead who stood betwixt us and our end : 


16 The Passing of the Queen 
The Queen is in her dotage and will go 
Unrecking till she dies; and he who comes 
Is bound by share of ventures to our plan. 

‘ So runs the world away/ Yea, ’tis the fool 
Who lets it run ; the wise man bids the stream 
Turn his good mills for profit. 

Enter Cecil. 

Ho, Cecil ! 

Welcome, good friend, though you bring here a face 
That tokens some ill news. What is it, man ? 

Is Essex’s ghost abroad, or sends Spain here 
Another fleet for us ? 

Cecil. Most like his ghost ; 

I had not thought of that. It smells of it 
And moves in his swift way. 

Ralegh. What is it, man. 

To check your steadfast heart? A ghost is stuff 
A breath may blow away. 

Cecil. Ay, but a ghost. 

Say some philosophers, may come to dwell 
In living mortal’s frame and shape its deeds 
To strangest purposes; hold all its clews 
Of self and memory, but turn the stream 
Of action to new ends, while the poor thrall 
Thus counterfeited bideth far away. 

Dead mayhap years before. — Can such things be ? 


The Passing of the Queen 17 

Ralegh. We have the proof of it when Cecil 
comes. 

The ever wise, and plays his friend the fool. 

What is this farce ? 

Cecil. ’T is a strange tragedy 

To shake our hearts. 

Ralegh. Her majesty is dead ? 

Cecil. Nay, much alive. The yesterday she 
went 

Once more upon the way where as a lass 

She crowned her with the joy of England’s folk. 

Oh, she was sorrowful and bent and old, — 

Yea, like to die for all before her gone; 

To-day she is a fury, swift and strong, 

A warrior king with sword that swingeth on 
With never reck of wounds. 

Ralegh. ’T is but the flare 

Of candle in its socket ; it will pass 
Quick to the darkness. There is nought to fear 
From such impotent flamings but the end 
That comes full soon. 

Cecil. Hear me but through and judge 

How impotent she is. This noon there came 
A message from her Commons with a prayer 
That she ’d annul all patents. Ay, ’t was prayed 
To move a heart of stone, — a cry for life 


1 8 The Passing of the Queen 
From her beloved people : told they starved 
So that the mothers could not milk their babes 
Or men bear arms for her. Then straight she rose, 
A whirlwind in her rage, and cried to God 
That she would strip from ye those damning rights 
Before the set of sun. 

Ralegh. This is but dotard rage. 

So old kings wear away : they soon forget ; 

They are like babes in that. 

Cecil. Nay, but ’t is done : 

The order *s signed and couriers are sped 
To bear it through the land. Ye all are stripped 
Naked as ye were born. 

Ralegh. This cannot be, 

For thou wert there beside her and thy part 
Is to scotch folly. That thou knowest well ; 

Thou wouldst but vex me here. 

Cecil. No man could hold 

Against that blast. Remember Tilbury field 
And her fierce might that raged it. Think you 
how 

We could have sent her to her samplers home ? 
You judge me jester : read what ’s written here 
And know it true. [Hands him order . 

Ralegh [reads]. This needs swift remedy. 
Cecil. What is thy cure ? 


The Passing of the Queen ig 
Ralegh. We ’ll halt this folly of her age and set 
Strength on her throne. 

Cecil. Go to your porch and hear 

The shout that roars from London for this news : 
He had the town behind him ; you before. 

There ’s in' her Tower block that still is wet 
With her heart’s blood. She fain would wash it out 
With that of him who spilled it, for she knows 
Whence the contriving came. If you but stir 
The lion ’s at your throat. ’T is famishing 
For a swift leap. 

Ralegh. We will all to the north ; 

Scotland is weary of her lingering here. 

A month will see us back. So ’t is delay 
And not defeat we face. 

Cecil. Nay, ’t is the end, 

For thy first stroke will send to her a flood 
Of love awakened in her England’s heart 
To which the tide of Tilbury were a rill. 

’T will besom Scotland, sweep thee to the deep ; 
Nay, try not that. 

Ralegh. But she is old and worn, 

But a poor ghost of sometime Tudor might; 

A day afield would slay her. 

Cecil. She a ghost ? 

A mighty man is in her and will stay 


20 The Passing of the Queen 
Till this task’s done. And if she falls, her folk 
Will make swift reckoning. 

Ralegh. Thou art our foe, 

Seeking to spy our plans ; we put thee there 
To be our helper. Thou shalt now elsewhere; 
Thou ’It find our strength : it is enough to break 
A way barred by a hunchback who’s contrived 
To slave a dotard Queen. We laid him low 
Who tried it yesterday. 

Cecil. My sometime friend, 

I ’m not thy foe, but servant of this realm ; 

The Lord hath crooked my body, but has left 
Wit straight enough to match against a knave. 

Go to thy closet, write of true men’s deeds 
Or scheme for empires. This good realm and folk 
Are not for thy contriving. 

[Ralegh draws sword . At signal from 
Cecil guards enter . 

Nay, not that, — 

Put up thy sword and hie back to thy place : 

We would have histories and splendid dreams; 
The world ’s awry when thou dost come to deeds 
Where men must reckon on their fellow-men. 
Thou art a hungerer of noble shape 
With all the man left out. 

End of Scene . 


The Passing of the Queen 21 

SCENE V 

Chamber of Elizabeth at Whitehall. 

Elizabeth and Cecil. 

Elizabeth. That order, — is it forth ? 

Cecil. Ay, my liege, ’t is gone 

To England’s farthest nook. 

Eliz. What say our folk ? 

Cecil. Little, my Queen, yet in their straight- 
ened backs 

They ’re else than yesterday. They draw their 
breath 

And look again away. 

Eliz. And they we smote ? 

Will they strike back ? 

Cecil. Some would, yet now none will ; 

They are confounded, for the deed was done 
As stroke from cloudless sky. 

Eliz. So would we strike 

Were ’t ours to hurl the bolts ; no thunder vain ; 
Let end announce the end, have the rogues wake 
To question their tormentors how they came 
Unknowing to their fate. ’T is merciful 
And ever safest. — How is’t with Sir Wat ? 

Will he play traitor? He is hardest hit ; 


22 The Passing of the Queen 
For with the clever greed his fancy masks 
He ’s drawn unto his coffers more than kings 
E’er racked from this worn realm. 

Cecil. He will be wise. 

Eliz. Still harping on his wisdom ? He ’s a fool, 
For with his godlike parts he’s treacherous 
E’en to his friends. 

Cecil. Ay, my Queen, he is wise. 

And yet a sorry knave. 

Eliz. Ho, thou hast found ? 

Cecil. Ay, liege, I ’ve lost a friend and found a 
knave ; 

He’s, as you say, a traitor in his heart, 

Not swept to treason by fierce passion’s tide 
But trained by avarice. 

Eliz. No miser he. 

But greedy for his visions. He feeds dreams 
With corn to nourish empires, robs the poor 
That men unborn may fatten. Watch him 
well : 

Such men are dangerous : their fancy breeds 
A host of dragons that may sudden forth 
To waste this earth. 

Cecil. He ’ll wait some fairer time 

Than this when all your land leans on your heart ; 
If any stir ’t will be to face a storm 


The Passing of the Queen 23 
To which the Armada’s gale were summer breeze. 
So they will bide to watch and to contrive ; 

Eliz. So must thou too, that we may lay our 
hand 

On his contriving head. We dare not leave 
This machinator in our land while \^e 
Fare to the other. 

Cecil. My liege, he ’ll but dream : 

He is a poet, with good sense of war, 

But lacks the wit to save him in the game 
He must play now to win. Put him aside ; 

He’ll crawl into his closet, shape new schemes 
Of kingdoms past the sea. 

Eliz. Now this is done. 

His wounds will smart and heal ; they will not spur 
To further deeds. The rest are little men; 
Numbed by their hurts they will forget their 
swords ; 

At worst they’ll clamour. So we shall have peace. 
Now, good contriver, bring John Spencer here 
If he be Lazarus with all his sores, 

For we needs heal him of the wound we gave, — 
And after that a messenger to France 
To say we ask he send an embassy 
To bear hence word of counsel. Say that we 
Would welcome Biron if he be the choice, 


24 The Passing of the Queen 
For he would greet us with dear memories 
Of one we knew together, and we him 
With some hard lessons that may profit bear. 

You know how like they were. 

Cecil. Ay, very like. 

Eliz. I would not see his brother die as he. 
Though Biron ’s nought to us save as he ’s like 
To him we slew. 

Cecil. Nay, my Queen. 

Eliz. Ay, Cecil, 

This kingdom slew him, for it took a realm 
To bear his might to earth. But from our hands 
We have to wash his blood as best we may, 

For see, it stains them all. Look thou on mine : 
All I may do till death will leave them stained 
In purple from his heart. Look on thine own : 
The headsman’s in his work were not so red. 

We slew in justice ; yet the mark is there, 

For hate went with the stroke. Bring Biron here 
He ’s on the fatal way ; he shall it see. — 

But first our mayor ; that ’s a nearer quest. 

End of Act First . 


ACT SECOND 

SCENE I 

Windsor. 

Elizabeth, looking from window. 
Elizabeth. 

ERE have I seen my father silent look 
Down this fair way of Thames as 
though he went 

In thought upon a progress through 
his realm. 

And I, a little child, then marvelled long, 

What led his eager soul thus far away 

To the unseen, and why when he came back 

His weary eyes were dimmed. Age stealeth much, 

Yet doth the hoary thief give us return 

When he thus leads us where our fathers stood, 

Making us to inhabit their dear souls 

And have their days our own. 

Enter Usher. 

Usher. Your majesty. 

Sir Francis Bacon, whom you bade attend, 
Awaiteth on your pleasure. 



26 The Passing of the Queen 
Eliz. Bid him here. — 

He too is hungry, yet with nobler greeds 
Than all the avid rest. From him I 'll have 
What wisdom 's here below. 

Enter Bacon. 

Welcome, good friend ; 
You are our counselor in matters strange 
That lie beyond the ken of other wits. 

Keen though they be. — We who have been so near 
To England's glorious fields, now journey on 
Into the realm where we must bide alway, 
Forgetting and forgot. We 'd set this house 
Of our own soul in order, clear our eyes 
For faithful seeing in the growing dark. 

Thy noble art is wisdom : help us know — 

If 't is to mortal given — what is death. 

Bacon. My Queen, 't is as you 've said, a jour- 
ney on; 

Yet 't is no going new, but that which brought 
To us the birthlight : ay, the very same 
That sent this sphere a-whirling through the void 
With all its noble burthen ; bade all stars 
To tread brave ways from nothingness to night 
In endless going back unto their God, 

Who sent them forth as ships upon His seas 
To harvest joy. 


27 


The Passing of the Queen 

Eliz. Ay, they too go to nought ! 

What doth it profit us that stars must die ? 

That does but seal the compact with grim death 
And make his night the realm. 

Bacon. We name it night 

When from our sky the quickening sun goes on 
To wake the unseen fields beyond the seas. 

We know the Lord doth bid His light live on 
And darkness be but shadow of His day. 

Were we enlarged from our poor cells of earth. 
The dark, that ’s half our life and all our fear, 
Would be no more. 

Eliz. Yea, that is sovereign truth. 

Sent ringing from His throne. His subject’s mind 
Doth take so much of blessing ; yet it longs 
For that which may give other fairer yet 
In trust that our dear atomies may live. 

Ay, it is noble that the realm sweeps on 
In all completeness to far destiny. 

But ’t is scant comfort if its iron wheels 
Roll on our dust insensate. — Know, my seer. 
How all this life of earth, from grass to men, 

Lifts for a day to sun and then falls down 
As raindrop in the realm from whence it came. 
Lost in the fearful deep. So dust to dust 
Returneth endlessly again to spring 


28 The Passing of the Queen 
Until this handful that we call ourselves 
Hath been the habitation of a host 
Past reckoning ; thus we but tenants are 
Of an old hostel where all comers have 
Fair welcome and a bidding to fare on, 

So soon their hearts are warmed. The room is 
scant, 

And all have but scant warming when the host 
Doth thrust them out. Ay, and with contumely 
If they would bide o’er long. 

Bacon. While we there halt. 

Waiting the word of march, let us look back 
And see behind us on the endless way 
Like hostels infinite, with shelter good. 

That gave forgotten welcome and command 
Our souls should ceaseless on. 

Eliz. Oh, that wings thought, 

But parts us from our footing on firm earth 
Where we need stand. 

Bacon. Yea, if we would behold 

The everlasting in this infinite, 

We need part from the world, take to the wings 
Of our discerning souls, — members as true 
As those that tread its fields, — and on those wings 
Sweep the wide realms of time and earth and sky. 
So may we part us from this commonplace 


The Passing of the Queen 29 
Of deeds that cramp us in our dust-bound life. 

And make us judgment free. 

Eliz. That ’s dizzying. 

Bacon. ’T is but the custom ; for the eagle looks 
From heights that dwarf the mightiest steep of 
shore, — 

Whence men start back in terror, — fearless 
down. — 

Soar up into the spaces and look far : 

What is that tiny sphere there in the realm. 

That atom in the all ? It is thine earth 

With all its precious freightage. Yea, how small 

Mid these profounds and orbs all numberless, 

A tiny bark upon a vergeless sea. 

Yet it sweeps on in safety of its God. — 

You’ve seen great barks go o’er the arched main 
Until they vanished past the horizon, 

Yet never doubted that their helmsmen seek 
To bring them sure to haven. Can you doubt 
That He, the master of celestial ships, 

Hath purpose in their faring and doth send 
Their cargoes safe to home ? 

Eliz. Ay, if the Lord 

Were, like ourselves, a tradesman in His soul 
And we His precious store. — Strange argument 
That makes the Everlasting count His wares. 


30 The Passing of the Queen 

Bacon. And yet the other makes Him spend- 
thrift fool, — 

Inventor merciless of perfect things. 

Who rends them when they ’re made ; who loves 
but dust. 

And shapes it to perfection but to hurl 
All back to dust again. We have the choice. 
From out the possible the God we will : 

The demon of the savage who doth rage 
In manner of his vassal, or the Lord 
Our fathers found and showed us, — God of truth 
Firm knit to His creations, pledged to them 
Because they are His own, because they hold 
In their own hearts the warrant of His faith 
In share of His own soul. 

Eliz. Yea, that goes far 

And seems to near the haven, yet there lies 
Upon that shore a mist that blinds my sight ; 

Seest thou it clear ? 

Bacon. It is not to be seen. 

But shown unto our souls by echoes faint 
And by far dawnings. 

Eliz. Oh, I asked for proof: 

You bring it not, yet something strangely good 
Cometh from out your wisdom. As in sun 
The mists impalpable rise from the sea, 


The Passing of the Queen 31 
Building the freighted clouds that quickening rain 
Send to the parched earth. To the ages’ drought 
That is in me these deeps have sent their dew. 
This helpeth hunger so we may not starve, 

But leaves us all unfilled. 

Bacon. To be a soul 

Is to be starving, — howe’er fed by life, 

Ever to be unfilled. For ’t is a void 

Shaped to contain the all ; if satiate 

It would know death. This clamour for the days 

We cannot see is like the cry of child 

For milk of mother, or its cry for light 

When frightened by the dark. And all this realm 

With endless harmonies is cradle song 

To lull our fears and bid us know that God 

Hath His strong arms around our infancy. 

Eliz. I would that wisdom were the cradle 
song 

When we are lulled into our age’s sleep ; 

So might our eyes unfearing look their last 
Upon our dear own world and dream the next 
Into fair morning. Yet it is sore hard 
To go and be forgotten where we ’ve been 
So well remembered. We would seek the book 
Where men are written in and see these words, 

‘ Here passed a lover, stern, mayhap, but true 


32 The Passing of the Queen 
To folk and realm and duty ; handed on 
Her trust unblemished when she went the way/ 
Writ so all men should read. 

Bacon. Yea, that is writ 

So all must read. 

Eliz. Nay, nay, that ugly page 

Hath blood upon it so that men to come 
Will there read shame. It needs to be rewrit 
By master’s hand, set forth so there shall live 
The woman who must die, who if she might 
Would choose the utter dreadful death to hold 
Love of her realm won with her dear heart’s blood 
And like to fade away. Save us this ill ; 

The rest we ’ll chance. 

Bacon. There is a player here, 

Near by your court, who hath such mastery 
That he can speak kings’ shadows into shapes 
Wondrous substantial ; so a vulgar knave 
Bred in a playhouse, putting on their crowns. 
Takes to his common soul their kingliness. 

This wizard art is seldom, and it comes 
We know not whence nor how. Whether the 
great 

Of all earth’s realms and ages find in him 
Way back to us, or he himself is king 
Who came not to his empire and doth go 


The Passing of the Queen 33 
As errant sovereign, herald of all thrones, 

Whose vanished masters would their message send 
Back to their people’s hearts. 

Eliz. Whence is this man ? 

Bacon. Up from the herd. But when such 
master steps 

Upon the stage we ask not whence, for he 
Brings the forever with him. 

Eliz. Know ye him ? 

Bacon. Ay, as the many know him, and know 
not 

More than his goodly shape and gentle way. 

The flash of word and eye that lights his deep. 

Yet there ’s a wall about him seen alone 
By those who search the mysteries of men 
And know what worlds may be within them hid. 
Eliz. I ’ll speak with him. — Yea, ’t is a won- 
drous realm 

Where thus a sovereign by my throne hath dwelt 
In silent majesty ; I would bide still 
Another life to see what dwelleth here. — 

Bring him to me this eve to crown the help 
You ’ve sent to me. 

Bacon. My Queen, it was your right. 

Eliz. Nay, nay, no queening. Think you 
I ’ve not known 


34 The Passing of the Queen 
That king and sage have not possessed this hour, 
But fellow mortals questioning the Lord. 
Farewell, and know it has been yours to lift 
Some darkness from mine eyes. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE II 

Chamber of Queen. 

Elizabeth, Bacon, and Player . 

Bacon. Here is the master of our stage, who 
brings 

The actors of all time to deck his own. 

My liege needs not his name. 

Elizabeth. No more than he 

Doth need our welcome. He hath known it well 
In greeting to himself through many shapes 
Sent o’er the space that parts his airy world 
From ours of earth. [To Player .] Yet welcome 
once again, 

For we would speak you near : of puppet shows 
Where mannikins may mimic deeds of men. 
Pulled by the clever strings of mountebanks 
On dirty boards ; and of the fairer place 
Where those poor dolls are lifted when they die, — 


The Passing of the Queen 35 
So please ye poets, — there to play the parts 
Their sore hearts ached to play the while they 
danced 

Their sorry round. 

Player. My Queen, you nobly greet 

Your servant with the sense of his dear hope 
And stay his purposes : ’t is sovereign help. 

But we poor players find that in our best 
We get but shadows of our fancied folk. 

Who had their substance from beholding eyes 
And souls that saw their greatness in the life. 

Eliz. Nay, master, it is thine to set us clear 
In eyes that see when ours shall look no more 
On earth’s dear things. Thou hast the sovereign 
cure 

For death’s worst ill. For thou hast made my sire 
Stand ’fore us in his strength, — brave as the sea 
And, though as ruthless, still the mighty sea 
Of mastering passions such as maketh man 
Fit for vast deeds of noble sovereignty 
That shape a realm. — Yea, happy is the time 
That nurtures men to send its story on 
True in the balanced truth of poesy, 

Where gold and dross are parted, and the gold 

Wrought in its mint to perfect currency 

For commerce of high souls. — So may we die, 


36 The Passing of the Queen 
Knowing death’s hand leads not into the dark, 

But to unending day with our own folk 
In this beloved light. — The sculptors seek 
To give us semblance in the lifeless stone; 

Ye bid ourselves pass on, more truly on 
Than child from mother, through the womb of 
soul. 

Player. My Queen, were you our hearer, that 
we ’d do, 

And count all time and men our audience 
For perfect understanding of the part. 

But they who wait us cannot see the play 
That lives in splendour by them, for they feel 
The soul that is beside them like their own, — 
Fouled with the fellow earth they know too 
well ; 

So we must seek the shadow land to find 
Brave empured names of other time and realm 
To bear the garb we fashion from the web 
Our common lives here weave. Ay, the far orbs 
Are as the earth, mere clods ; yet they are stars 
For they are far: but had we dwelt in them, 

Trod in their mire, and bitten of their dust. 

We should not see their glory ; they would be 
Mere rushlights in our eyes. 

Eliz. [to Bacon]. Hear that, my sage, 


The Passing of the Queen 37 

What say you here of stars that be mere clods 
Save that they ’re far ? 

Bacon. My liege, so it may be : 

All matter ’s cognate, as the bits that fall 
From out the heavens tell us. I have seen 
In them the very substance of this earth 
Of divers shapes. I ’ll prove you this 
With samples an you will. 

Eliz. Go to, my sage, 

The poet’s wisdom ’s fitter for my ken ; 

For it doth spare the proof, asks but the ay 
From soul that knew before instruction came, 

And finds the answer ancient, good, and true. 

As I do this, so aptly left half said 
In parable from sky. — [To Player.] My man, my 
man, 

Thou art a mighty one who thus can slay 

Thy sovereign’s dearest hope with thy keen stroke, 

Yet leave thyself the dearer to her heart. 

Here in this dark she counts her rosary, — 

Each bead a star that once was clod of earth, 

Now far and shining. So she knows it true, 

That we must be the dust to wait the call 
Of God or Singer to the life beyond. 

Grace for thy lesson. 

Player. Hear me still, my Queen : 


38 The Passing of the Queen 
Your servant had not dared to set his thought 
Thus ’gainst your longing, — no, not in the sky 
Where you alone would read it, — were it not 
He knew it safe within your mighty soul 
To leave no sorrow. You have compassed time 
And shaped his deeds to be your very own. 

Leave all unto that master ; he ’s your scribe 
To write your story on the earth he tends. 

We of this age are children of your house; 

To you our mother we can give but love ; 

Song is not fit, however well we sing, 

To do our service. Happy they whose part 
’T will be to shape in fancy what she was 
Who gave her folk their glory. Yet their joy 
Will be the empty vessel we now hold 
Brim filled with glorious wine. 

Eliz. That is fair homage, — yea, I know its 
gauge, — 

Yet not so fit as when thou hurled’st me truth, 
Forgetting else because thine art is true 
And goes straight to its end. Oh, I am poor 
For loss of a fair blossom that the share 
Of thy rude plough hath sent into its grave. 

Yet though the earth be^raw, from it will spring 
A better for the turning. Now farewell, 

Until we send for thee ; when be thou here, 


The Passing of the Queen 39 
For something comes to pass we ’d have thee see, 
A bit of doing that mayhap will shape 
To a fair comedy. 

[Exit Player . Elizabeth is long silent . 
Bacon. I brought him for your comfort ; he 
hath left 

Sorrow behind him. He ’s not shaped to serve 
A sovereign’s need. 

Eliz. Nay, man, I have known kings 

And studied what ’t was graced their sovereignty 
To match me with them; yet none else save he 
Hath sent mine eyes aloft to find his crown 
Set ’gainst the sky. What said he in that hour ? 
Would it were written, for I never knew 
Speech echo fairer in dear memory, 

As trumpet notes that leap from crag to crag 
And stir night’s spaces as they onward fly 
With shout of valour. 

Bacon. Yea, I ’ve noted well 

That those who speak with him stay not on earth, 
But circle far above ; or else they go 
To the deep seas, or to yet nether realm. 

Eliz. This land of mine is garden fit to till. 
Would I were master of its years to come 
To see the harvest where I know but seed : 

You too have planted and have felt the ache 


40 The Passing of the Queen 
Of those who hunger for the fruit, yet know 
They ’ll never look upon the laden tree. — 

Ay, he brought sorrow, yet it is the pain 
That greatens soul and changes clods to stars 
Lessening death’s baseness. Could we but bide 
here 

In such vast spaces we might wait for him 
E’en as we would, in sovereign dignity 
As King doth wait a King. 

Enter Chamberlain . 

What brings you here ? 
Chamberlain. My liege, the morrow ye are 
bid attend 

As gossip for Sir Harry Compton’s son. 

He says you promised him this royal grace. 

Eliz. Yea, ’t is a pretty finish of our play. 

Doth Sir John come? 

Chamb. He willing comes 

In wonder at your call. 

Eliz. Tell him we wait 

To have his service in a happy deed 
We ’ve planned to light our day. 

End of Scene . 


The Passing of the Queen 41 

SCENE III 

Audience Room at Whitehall. 

Elizabeth. 

Enter Chamberlain . 

Chamberlain. He waits, my Queen, whom 
you bade hasten here 
With a proud patience that befits a king 
More than your servant player. 

Elizabeth. Bid him in 

And bow ye low before him, for he comes 
To welcome greeting. He’s a courtier 
By a far throne and his high aspect hath. 

To those who know, true touch of kingliness. 
Your eyes are keen, my man. Haste ! bid him in. 

Enter Player , who kneels to kiss Queen’s hand. 
Ah, master, once more welcome to my eyes 
As sun would be to them in this dull day 
That hath forgot its office. 

Player. Nay, my Queen, 

’T is fairest office of yon sky to fend 
Betimes from us the far-off lights that we 
May know and love the nearer. 

Eliz. Oh my friend, 

We just now named you courtier and you prove 


42 The Passing of the Queen 
Our judgment true. Yea, but you shape it well ; 
The dearest homage goeth through the heart 
To stay in understanding. 

Player. My liege hath 

A soul that quicks her servants to her mind, 

They do no more than send her back the light 
After the manner of the moon to sun. 

Eliz. So may it once have been, but now this 
sun 

Hath changed its part and hungers for the light 
It had erstwhile to give. Oh master, thou know’st 
well 

How deep the darkness that doth wrap us in 
When eyes grow dim and in our memories 
We seek the vanished light. 

Player. That light doth burn 

In sky that changes not, though all the orbs 
Roll on to endless night. In memory 
Is garnered all that suns may win from fields 
Safe folded from the fates that claim all else 
For their scant harvest in the empty straw. 

They do but glean where trod that reaper’s feet 
The waste he scorned. 

Eliz. It is thy clever wit 

To gloze the evils of the dark with day. 

Thy fancy paints with moonbeams. But I know 


The Passing of the Queen 43 
What dawn and noon and eve can give a king, 

Or to his meanest, when dear life doth lend 
Youth to the winning. [ Pointing to distance .] See 
you there away 

Far down yon sombre valley where this noon 
Scarce parts it from the night. Ah, how I loved 
To go it o’er and scent the earth that turned 
Upon the ploughs, or see the corn that came 
In song enriched harvests that went home 
When summer’s tide was o’er. And on and on 
A hundred vales gave welcome to the way 
Of England’s Queen. Yea, there have sovereigns 
been 

With wider realms to sway, but never one 
Who dearer held his empire in his heart 
Or had his folk so near. 

Player. Or who was held 

So by the hearts of men in perfect trust 
For all the sovereign’s part. 

Eliz. That was, that was, 

When winters were but dawnings of the spring 
And sorest need mask of prosperity. 

Then came the waning to the sorry eve 
When faces that in youth had looked on her 
In glad expectancy were turned away 
Or wore their smiles for seeming, when the youths 


44 The Passing of the Queen 
She drew near to her childless breast waxed men 
To rend her heart in hunger for her realm 
And meet the traitor’s fate. 

Player. One such, no more, 

And he the noblest traitor of all time, 

Whose fault was sovereign, for he was a king 
To brook no mastery save from his God ; 

Who bore with him to well-deserved block 
The splendour that was his because he grew 
Where your eyes lit men’s souls. 

Eliz. Ah, then you know. 

Thank God my prophet knows ; but this hard folk, 
Mine in their father’s time, are mine no more 
Save by sheer might. Their love went forth with 
him, 

And we are in stark winter where the days 
Ebb down to darkness and there comes no spring 
With its remounting hope. 

Player. ’T is the hard fate 

Of those who bless a realm with lengthened rule : 
They take for their reward the mortal’s pay 
In sight of men who speed them on to goals 
They set but never win. We of the throng 
Catch light of battle in the eyes of sons 
Who haste away uncaring, so they come 
Timely to deeds in which we have no share. 


The Passing of the Queen 45 
Your sorrow passes ours, for all this realm 
Is of your travail, nurtured by your care. 

You see the great procession pass afar 
Until its banners sink behind the hills. 

Yet you are with them ; all their might is yours. 
The light that ’s in their eyes you gave to them. 
So march a people onward when their kings 
Show the appointed way. 

Eliz. Thine is the art. 

The sacred art that doth the soul assoil 
In the vast spaces, serene, cold, and pure 
Where all our hungers still and fade away. — 

The man within thee knows we cannot dwell 
In that empyrean; we must back to earth 
And take again its dear clods to our hearts 
And find our peace with them. 

Player. My Queen, we must 

Keep feet on earth, however high we lift 
Our eyes above its hills. It is our part 
To send our souls into that spacious realm 
And let them wait us there. 

Eliz. Nay, my player. 

Thou canst not set this stage of earth to fit 
That fair philosophy. Here we must bide 
And leave the Lord to sift our good from ill. 

Enter Chamberlain . 


46 The Passing of the Queen 

Chamberlain. Your majesty, Sir John attends 
you long; 

He chafes of waiting. He is on my heels. 

Enter Sir John. 

Eliz. How now, my clothyard knight, you ’re 
timely here. 

We do not have to bide when you are bid ; 

You have a sovereign’s promptness. 

Sir John. Ay, my liege, 

Your sceptre should be gauged as is my own 
To measure true and give his fitting share 
To each who comes. Thus might your courtiers 
Catch your good Tudor sense of shopman’s ways. 
Eliz. Ho, my hard friend, hap you ’ve a better 
gauge 

Upon your yardstick than upon your tongue. 

Yet will we count it courtesy, for you 

Share this wide realm with us and have the right 

To pinch our sovereign ears. 

Sir John. Nay, my good liege, 

I am your servant and my lordship holds 
To certain shops and ships, to be your own. 

You know I have no heir, nor kith nor kin. 

So when John Spencer’s dust, they are his Queen’s 
Wherewith to deck her fancy. 

Eliz. 


Ah, Sir John, 


The Passing of the Queen 47 
Your mortal house is builded on a rock, 

’T will fall not in our time. We know you have 
A buxom wedded daughter ; she ’ll send sons 
To show your ships to reaches of far seas 
Your keels have never stirred. They ’ll give you 
youth 

When else this life were old. 

Sir John. I had a lass. 

But she died from my house a year agone. 

You saw her funeral although it went 
Not by the lych gate’s way. 

Eliz. Shame on you, man, 

’T was a brave wedding. 

Sir John. Shame on my liege, for she 

Hath parted father from his only child 
To please an idle knave. 

Eliz. We trusted rage 

To blow itself away and leave our sky 
Clear for new morning. Thus it is with men 
Save one who hath so vaunted on his will 
He ’ll not forgive his God who made his child 
Bow ’fore another master. — Pray, good friend. 
Take lesson of your eyes and see that spleen 
Is but a miser of mere emptiness 
Whose coffers never hold of merchant’s gain 
Won in fair barter. 


48 The Passing of the Queen 

Sir John. Yea, she ’s dead, she ’s dead. 

And till our graves are opened she shall lie 
Where ye have graved her. 

Eliz. Let ’s have truce to that. 

Your Queen hath bid you here for better deed 
Than fuming with her over yesterdays ; 

To-day we share an office of God’s realm. 

We are to be the sponsors of a babe 

That shall be man when men know us no more. 

So we in childless age may link our lives 
With youth that mounts to hope. Share this with 
me. 

Token of days when with your soul and ships 
You stayed our England well. 

Sir John. Ay, that I will. 

For, though she was my foe in that hard deed. 

My Queen is yet my liege. 

Eliz. They wait us long. 

For we have made long prelude to this play. 

Now quick to church. 

Sir John. Whose is this child, my Queen ? 
Eliz. Of man and woman ; poor in all save hope, 
But passing rich in that. We ’ll find anon 
What name it is to bear. What ’s in a name ? 

Our task concerns God’s realm. So let us on. 

[Exeunt to chapel . 

End of Scene . 




The Passing of the Queen 49 
SCENE IV 

Chapel. Service of Baptism. 

Priest and Attendants . Mother veiled , Father in 
shadow . 

Ezz/^r Queen and Sir John Spencer with Player . 
Priest. And ye who take this charge, will ye 
now give 

Your pledge to God this child born in our faith. 
Though motherless, it have a mother’s care. 

And never lack a father’s hand to stay 
So long ye bide on earth ? 

Sir John. Ay, that I do 

Most willingly, for I have none on earth 
To claim the right of child, and this shall be 
Near to me all my days. 

Elizabeth. We pledge with him 

And know our surety good in that true knight 
Who giveth heart with word ; now ’fore the Lord 
We ’ll name the boy John Spencer. 

[ Priest holds babe to Sir John. 
Eliz. [to Sir John]. Take him. Sir John; 
Ne’er came to sire a fairer hope in son 
Than this shall be to you. 

Sir John [ taking child ]. ’T is a brave boy, 


50 The Passing of the Queen 

And in his eyes I see a light that ’s gone 
Out of my own for aye. 

Eliz. Nay, ’t is come back ; 

Thy face is as we knew it in thy youth 
When here thou cam’st to wed thy bride so fair ; 
Self-same as when unto this font thou brought’st 
A girl to take God’s welcome, — face of man 
Who knew the glory of undying love 
But since has worn the ugly mask of hate. 

Tread that foul semblance ’neath thy feet and stay 
The man God made to bear His light in eyes 
Until He bade him hence — 

Sir John. Yea, it is like — 

So strangely like. It slays a score of years 
Since here I brought another new-born child, 

Alas ! now dead. [To Queen.] How is it that this 
babe 

With puny hands tugs my old heart to him? 
Whose child is it, my Queen ? 

Eliz. This thou wouldst know ? 

Sir John. Ay, there is need of traffic, for I ’ve 
said 

This lad shall be mine own. 

Eliz. [signing to Mother ]. This is God’s time. 

[Mother comes to Sir John and kneels before 
him . 


The Passing of the Queen 51 
Sir John. My child, my child ! 

Eliz. Farewell, Sir John, your soul and ships 
have found 

The fitting heir. [T0 Player .] Come, master, it is 
done ; 

This comedy is ended. 

Player. Noble Queen, 

The play is but begun ; like all you set 
Upon this everlasting stage, it will go on 
Forever trooping down the ways of time. 

For it shall have for player every man 
Who does his part in largeness. 

End of Scene. 

SCENE V 

Garden of Whitehall Palace. 
Elizabeth and Court. 

Elizabeth \to Lady in Waiting ] . Where is my 
jester ? ’Hap he ’ll have some quirks 
To stir our wits. He promised yesterday 
That if this dull earth held it he ’d find sport 
To light a London noon. Send forth for him ; 

Bid him to leave his wisdom, bring his wit ; 

To come as cap and bells, and not to preach 
As he ’s oft mind to do. 


52 The Passing of the Queen 

Lady in Waiting [to Servant], Go, seek her 
Clod, 

And if he ’scape thee, seek for his old dog 
And he will be near by. 

Eliz. [to Lady], ’T is evil sign 

When fools turn wise and wise men make them 
fools 

As mine seem striving to. We’ll mend their ways 
Or change their trades to fit them. 

Lady. Has my Queen 

Seen how her jester hath shrunk to his ghost ? 
With no more room for breath. 

Eliz. Nay, he ’s himself. 

None merrier save when he’d play the priest 
Or else the counselor. 

Lady. Yea, but he ’s old — 

Eliz. ’Sdeath ! Merry Clod is old ? He came 
to us 

A while ago ; ay, by Westminster’s gate 
As we went to our crowning. He was then, 

What he was yesterday, of jesters king, 

The dearest hump that e’er brought sovereign help 
For sovereign’s ills. Why comes he not} ’T is 
strange : 

He ’s wonted to our service and bides near 
To heed our call. Ay, he is faithful Clod. 



The Passing of the Queen 53 
Enter Servant . 

Servant. My Queen, your Clod is gone ; we 
found him dead 

Upon his pallet with his cur held fast 
Between his withered arms. 

Eliz. Alas ! dear Clod, 

Now all is well with thee. 

Servant. Wouldst see, my Queen? 

He lieth straight. It is a miracle ; 

His hump hath gone. 

Eliz. Nay, we ’ll not see : 

That wonder’s not for world of fellow Clods, 

But for another. Grave him with true men. 

For in his misshape dwelt a nobleman. — 

[T 0 Cecil.] Cecil, I must away. I am o’ercome 
By mastering death where death seems mortal 
shame. 

We will to Hatfield, where the churchyard blooms 
Even in winter, when the weary come 
Seeking the mother’s arms. 

Cecil. My Queen, it stays 

Ever thine own, and waiting with its love 
Unaged by long years. 

End of Act Second . 


ACT THIRD 

SCENE I 


Gate of Hatfield House. Early Morning . 
Country Folk awaiting Elizabeth. 
Village Youth. 

EE ! See ! Beyond the trees her ban- 
ner waves 

Its red above the green. Her trum- 
pets shout 

To send the ravens croaking and the owls 
Swift scuttling from their holes. Now for the 
dance, 

That she may know us merry as we be 
At her home faring. 

^Villagers place themselves for the dance . 
Dame Fielding. Oh, I never thought 
To see her more until she came to lie 
Beside her Ashley, where she would find rest 
When all her work was done. 

Fielding. Nay, dame, be still; 

Leave croaking to yon ravens. She comes here 



The Passing of the Queen 55 
For frolic with her people. Her hard years 
We ’ll help her to forget for memory 
Of how she ’s aged for us. 

[Touths and Maidens dance to pipe . 

Pipe and Voice. 

Welcome , welcome , Hatfield's Queen, 

Welcome here ; we dance and sing 
And for thee our roses fling. 

Take our hearts and love, dear Queen ; 

Thine are all our larks and daisies, 

Thine our dance that in its mazes 
Weaveth love of all that *s been 
Waiting for thee in thy bowers. 

Waiting in our corn and flowers. 

For home faring of our Queen. 

Enter Elizabeth on a palfrey, with Attendants. 
Eliz. \to Player ]. Good player, that is here 
which seemed so far. 

Heart lifting welcome I so long have dreamed ; 
Yea, ’tis good harvest home. 

Player. Mistress, ’t is May : 

This is the sower’s song ; we ’ve fared afar 
Beyond the further tropic where the sun 
Brings springtime when he slants adown our sky. 
Give soul to it ; there ’s youth in this good cup 
That loving youth doth press to age’s lips. 


56 The Passing of the Queen 

Eliz. Ay, that I will ; my life, my folk are 
back, 

And every pulse within me beats that dance. 

I cannot stay here caged ; let me afoot 
That I may tread with them this changeless sod 
And feel its spring of youth. [Elizabeth alights . 
Youths and Maidens. 

Mistress, this is May-time measure , 

Lost the while we lone have been. 

Come ye here and heap our pleasure ; 

Come , dear mistress , be our Queen. 

[They draw Elizabeth to dance. 

Now we have our May-day measure. 

Heyday frolic with our Queen, 

Now our mistress crowns our pleasure 
As we crown her Hatfield's Queen. 

[A lass places crown of flowers on Eliza- 
beth’s head ; Elizabeth takes her hand. 
Eliz. My lass, there is a light in thy fair 
eyes 

That shone into my heart in days of old ; 

Thou hast the right to welcome with a crown 
And ’neath it bid me be your Hatfield’s queen : 
Thou art Kate’s daughter, — yea, her very self : 
Dear lass, I ’m now at home. 


The Passing of the Queen 57 
Dame F. [to Fielding], Kate Ashley’s lass! 

She was her grandame. 

Fielding. Hush, dame, hush! She’ll hear. 
The lass hath mercy. Faith, the grannie had 
Like face in her fair time. 

Lass. Mistress, we be 

The children of thy house, and would be so 
That all stay as of yore to light thine eyes 
When they look on us. 

Eliz. Ye are good to me 

To keep your faces changeless as these walls 
And hearts as their foundations. 

[To Youth .] Ah, dear John, 

I thought thee hid beneath yon yew - tree’s 
shade ; 

Art thou a sturdy shadow from his grave 
Sent here to lift an age ? 

John. Nay, Hatfield’s queen, 

I am thy John and shall be when I lie 
Beside my gaffer’s bones. 

Fielding [aside]. The smart fool’s tongue 

Will make our task the harder. 

Eliz. Thy gaffer, lad. 

Was gone before I came ; but thy good sire 
Was my dear giant when I was a child. 

I well remember how he seemed to me 


58 The Passing of the Queen 

Firm set as yonder tower. All my days 
When stout men stood before me I ’ve harked 
back 

To him as measure of the shape of men 
Who rule our England’s fields. Betimes I ’ve 
felt, 

When sore, sore weary, his stout arms uplift 
The child that bides in Age’s heart alway, 

And longs for sparing strength ; then I have 
dreamed 

My head lay on his shoulder while he strode 
At eve across yon fields to bear me home 
When I had wandered far. — How all comes 
back, — 

Those days when first I knew the might of 
man. 

The glory of his strength, his simple faith 
Won from this honest earth. — Yea, happy 
child. 

So orphaned, still to find a father’s arms 
And waiting mother’s breast mid simple folk 
By this foul world unsoiled. \To John.] Stay, 
lad, with me: 

The Lord is good to send thee to mine eyes ; 

Thy Queen hath use for thee. 

John. Yea, Hatfield’s queen. 


The Passing of the Queen 59 
Thy John shall faithful serve thee ; in this realm 
He knows no other liege. 

Eliz. Not England’s Queen ? 

John. Nay, Hatfield’s we all serve ; the other is 
A traitor to our own, who keeps her caged 
Far from her folk. 

Eliz. Ho, rebel, so thy sire 

In ruder phrase would scorn his England’s lord 
And scoff her bidding when she ’d have him go 
Elsewhere to serve. She would have had him 
hanged, 

As she ’d hang thee, but that she too hath hung 
’Twixt faith to rival realms. \To People .] Lead 
on, dear folk. 

Yon gate waits with its welcome and within 
Is else that ’s dear. 

Pipe and Voice . 

Mistress , Hatfield's gate 9 s been darkened 
Since that weary yesterday 
When its darling message hearkened 
'That did bid her hie away . 

Now the sun is bright upon it , 

Now its gillies bloom again , 

For her wandering feet have won it ; 

Hatfield hath its day again . 


6o 


The Passing of the Queen 
Welcome waiteth open hearted 
’ Neath our roof as ’ neath our sky : 

We are joined who were long parted ; 

We 'll be happy till we die . [They go within . 
End of Scene . 

SCENE II 

Hall at Hatfield House. 
Elizabeth and Train , Keeper of Hatfield . 

Keeper. Our Hatfield’s mistress hath brought 
glorious morn 

To light its hearts and fields. 

Elizabeth. Yea, e’en the night, 

Hovering like mother bird upon this realm, 

Doth hatch a noble brood. It sent to me 
God’s spacious silence where the soul may build 
The temples of its dreams to love and faith 
And therein kneel in peace. It sent me day 
As day should come, with carolling of lark 
And heart that answers hail. I ’m young again, — 
Save for these weighted limbs and watery eyes. 
The child who roamed these fields and looked away 
With wonder of beyonds. Now as of old 
I hunger for the happiness to come 
In merry hours betwixt the morn and eve : 


The Passing of the Queen 6i 
They 'll vie to give me joy, and I ’ll be queen 
Of their fair tourney. 

Keeper. Mistress, we ’d fain bring 

The store we ’ve garnered all these fruitful years 
From dear love put to faithful usury. 

But that would break the back of stoutest hours 
And cumber thee with gold. So we will show 
Ensample of thy treasures that may tell 
If we have hid our talents. See afar, 

[. Pointing from window . 

How comes the tribute of this morning hour, 
Trooping unto thy gate. 

Eliz. [i looking away\ . Yea, here it comes, 

A glorious stream from out my hills and dales 
Such as doth flow o’er golden sands of heaven 
Wherein the aged lave their years away 
For their eternal youth. Set wide the gate 
As that which guards my heart doth open far 
Upon its rusty hinges to let in 
God’s blessed tide. 

Enter Procession of Children , who dance to pipe and sing . 
Voice and Pipe . 

Mistress , now y tis merry morning , 

Lark hath sung the sun to sky ; 

Now he brings day to thy chamber : 

Mistress , let us with him hie . 


62 


The Passing of the Queen 
To the dales where Daffies blossom , 

To the hills for violets . 

All our aprons shall be laden 
Ere the sun at even sets . 

Then we 'll weave thee in the gloaming 
Nightcap of dark poppy flowers , 

So thou 'It sleep well till the morning 
Send again its happy hours . 

Eliz. {gathering Children to her]. Yea, little ones, 
and I will show you where 
The lark doth hatch her chicks and teach them how 
To pipe the sun up o’er the eastern hill, 

And you shall cage me one so I may have 
The merry trumpeter to hail me day 
Whenever it be dark. 

Child. But, mistress, here there be 

Of larks a plenty, and we ’ve always day 
When night is done. 

Eliz. Yea, darling, so we have 

In merry Hatfield ; but far, far away 
In sorry places, there is never one 
To wake the morning. 

Child. Mistress, dwell folk there ? 

Eliz. Yea, child, sad, weary folk. 

Child. Oh bid them here, 


The Passing of the Queen 63 
And we will take them Maying in the morn 
And teach them to be glad. 

Eliz. Dear, one will go 

A-Maying with thee who would never back 
Into the larkless land. 

Enter Procession of Lads and Lassies bearing Flowers. 
Voice and Pipe . 

Mistress , here we bring thee blossoms 
Plucked from every hill and dale , 

Sample of the hosts who y ve faded , 

Hosts that sprung to give thee hail. 

Phloxes from thy far-up meadows , 

Primroses from by thy spring , 

Lilies pale from yew-trees' shadow , 

Greet thee in our offering . 

Mistress , take with these the welcome 
Of the many who have died 
Lacking all for all their glory , 

For they bloomed not by thy side . 

Eliz. Yea, singer, to my heart ; for heart’s 
good store 

In life’s best harvest of its fadeless blooms. — 

My children, let me change this gift with tale 
Of how in eld a princess, a poor girl. 


64 The Passing of the Queen 
Was prisoned in hard walls with but one gate. 
That led to death. Yea, but there came to her 
A tiny lass with a wee blanched flower 
And love to give it might. Then fell those walls 
And forth the princess hied, our England’s Queen, 
For her heart woke to love unknown before, 

A love that mocketh gaols. — Full long she reigned, 

And in her weary age it did befall 

She stood again all hapless ’fore that gate. 

Once more there comes the light of God’s dear 
eyes 

Out of His blossoms, and once more those walls 
Fall into dust. 

Lad. Mistress, where is that gaol ? 

The morrow we’ll be men, and we will slay 
Those sorry knaves who cage our princesses 
And set them ’fore such gates. 

Eliz. Oh lads, dear lads. 

They be great giants who do us these wrongs ; 
Wax stout of limb and soul if ye would hew 
With good swords to their hearts. 

Lad. Ay, that we will. 

Eliz. Yea, that ye will: I see it in your eyes. 
Ye ’ll slay those gaolers and break down those 
walls 

Where innocence is caged. I trust ye well. — 


The Passing of the Queen 65 
Song and Pipe . 

Now the harvest shows its treasures , 

Telling how our mistress' fields 
Know the round from plough to sickle 
And the fatness good earth yields . 

Corn a plenty , cattle lowing 
From the dale and from the hill , 

Sheep that speckle all her pastures 
As the stars the heaven fill . 

How the spinsters' songs are whirring , 

How the matron swings the loom , 

Soothe shuttle heats the measure 
While the great wheel lends its boom , 

Beating to the song that ever 
Ringeth ' neath our happy sky 9 
Where doth seed , in every furrow , 

Joy to springs though sower die . 

Enter Farmers and Wives , bringing corn and cloth . 
Farmer Giles. Mistress, here is corn from thy 
home field 

That yieldeth hundred fold. 

Eliz. Yea, that is good. 

Fair scripture measure. Let no villain tares 
Creep in to scant that yielding. 



66 The Passing of the Queen 
Giles. We care well 

And reckon every grain as more than gold, 

For it is precious seed. 

Eliz. Not for the mill ? 

Giles. Nay, for new sowing in old fields that 
wait 

To give great harvests where they’d else be scant, 
However deep we till. 

Eliz. Give me of it [Taking seed. 

And I will string a necklace of the grains 
For this dear memory. How came ye by this 
corn ? 

The good Lord seldom sendeth such gifts here 
To prayerful need. 

Giles. Long gone a gentle child. 

With mind to share our sowing, dibbled in 
Some chosen lusty seed that topped best ears 
And weighed them nodding down. She cared for 
them 

With little hands that had the might of kings 
In shaping to their will. When our sires came 
To set their sickles, they found wonder there ; 
They named it * Princess corn,’ so it is told 
In songs at harvest home. 

Eliz. Dear man, dear man, 

Thou giv’st me back the best of all my days, 


/ 

The Passing of the Queen 67 
And with it boon to bless the noblest crown 
In well remembered help. — Welcome, my folk. 
Who know the sweetness of these fields with 
me. 

And send them wholesome to your children 
on. 

We have been fellow sowers of our realm ; 

God grant us like good harvest for our toil. 

Pray this for me. 

Old People draw near with immortelles and yew 
branches in their hands . 

Voice and Pipe . 

Now the weary , heavy-laden. 

With their treasures , come to thee; 

They have bided long , , awaiting 
Time to show they faithful be . 

Winter ' s set its frosts upon them , 

Summer s toil hath bowed them sore. 

And their hands bear thee but little , 

For their harvest days are o'er . 

Yet, dear mistress , they bear treasures 
That our blooms and corn outvie : 

In their hearts they bring thee jewels 
Gathered from the earth and sky, — 


68 The Passing of the Queen 
Love they 've garnered by our chimneys. 

Valour won on reddened earth , 

Trust from God's face in the heavens , 

Wondrous things from death and birth . 

Eliz. [to Keeper ]. I’ll go to them, for they 
have come to me 

Across long lifetime’s reaches toiling on. — 

[To People\ . Dear comrades, well we knew this 
world together f 

As happy children knew it, — knew it not 
Save from each other’s eyes. We ’ve trod our 
ways 

Nigh one to other, though to sight denied. 

Until by grace of God our hearts touch here 
At His appointed place beside our graves. 

Your England’s Queen, though far, doth send to 
ye 

This message from her weary, troubled soul 
With love and greeting : all her days she ’s known 
Your staying might to help her in her need. 

On far-off seas, ’neath England’s roof, in heart 
Wrung by the deeds the Lord hath bade her do 
In fealty to your law. Her sorest woe 
Hath lightened when she dreamed she went with 
ye 

Beside your faithful ploughs, your laden wains, 




The Passing of the Queen 69 

Bringing great harvests home. She ’ll share your 
joys. 

Have part in all your sorrows, to the end 
In God’s great silence and the hope beyond. 

Old Woman. Dear mistress, we thy lovers of 
this land 

Have had thee in our hearts since that far time 
When thou wert of our days. We bring to thee 
Of rosemary that ’s sweet in winters long. 

Of thyme that wins its fragrance when ’t is dead. 
These everlastings that hold fast their blooms 
Till dear spring comes again, and eke this yew 
That bideth ever green. 

Eliz. Dear folk, dear folk, 

Thank God your true hearts tell ye what my 
tongue * 

Must leave untold lest heart of mine should 
break, — 

What passeth thanks. It stayeth in my soul. 

His mercy sends me many to be dear 
In the great trooping from the dark to dark : 
Youths of the bravest, who unto my age 
Bear the glad tidings of the life that dwells 
Within this teeming land ; yet they bring not 
What ye have lent me in your hearts and eyes 
Of fellow faith and trust : that comes alone 


jo The Passing of the Queen 
From those who Ve loved each other in young 
days 

When earth is heaven. 

Fielding. Dear mistress, we are gay. 

Though we be seeming sad ; we bring no groans, 
For all our knees are stiff and polls are bare ; 

Our wits are nimble and our hearts have cheer 
For what the dear Lord gives. Send, England’s 
Queen, 

That sorry dame who for these weary years 
Hath starved our Hatfield what thou hast of woes. 
And frolic with us to the lichyard gate 
And merrier beyond. 

Voice and Pipe . 

Tea, dear mistress , we be merry , 

Though our seeming seemeth sad : 

Hatfield hath no tears for welcome ; 

Come , dear mistress , we 'll be glad . 

We will forth upon our Maying 
O'er thy meadows and thy hills , 

Where thy seeing eyes may reckon 
How with love thy land d erfills . 

From afar thy folk are trooping , 

Clad in pleasure, feet in air , 


The Passing of the Queen 71 
For the waited day a-Maying 
They shall with their mistress share . 

We have bidden all the wide world 
To our frolic , that they tell 
All the others how we welcome , — 

Welcome when we love right well . 

Pipe goes fore us with our choir , 

Birds and bees and lowing kine , 

New-born lambs that bleat for mothers , — 

All shall share our May-day fine . 

Piping out the shadowed valley , 

Piping up the sunlit hill — 

[. Procession disappears . Pipe and voices die 
away. 

End of Scene. 


7 2 


The Passing of the Queen 


SCENE III 

Wood on top of hill on edge of fields giving wide view . 
Youths and Maidens dancing near by . Bells peal- 
ing from distant churches. Noon. 

Elizabeth, Cecil, Player y and People. 

Cecil. My liege — 

Elizabeth. Avaunt, avaunt, for thou dost mind 
me sore 

Of a hard gaoler who once made me turn 
A weary treadmill, grinding mouldy corn : 
May-day hath cast that villain in the deep 
Of numb forgetting ; there I ’ll leave him drowned 
Until the ugly trump doth wake again 
My day to weary duty. Come, my player, 

Thy face doth hail me freedom from the skies ; 

I ’ll on with thee. [They go to edge of wood. 

[To Player .] Good master, lend me eyes. 

As thou hast oft before, to see afar. 

What lieth ’fore us ? 

Player. Mistress, the wide world 

That England’s seas fence in. Here at thy feet 
Are happy folk ; beyond are hills and dales 
With fields that tell the faithful hand of man 
In cots and barns that garner love and corn, 


I 


The Passing of the Queen 73 
Twin stayers of man’s days. And on and on 
This earth of gold goes rolling to the seas. 

While above all, in overarching sky 

That rainbow mocks, hovers the glorious sun 

Like eagle guarding young. 

Eliz. Look, master, well 

And find me there the blackened path of war 
In ruined houses and the trampled corn 
Red with the reapers’ blood ; hear there the cry 
Of widow weeping for her true man slain, 

The maid for lover true. 

Player. Nay, mistress, I know there 

The bells above their churchyards shouting joy 
From all their brazen throats, as if they ’d sent 
Long happy years no other cry to heaven ; 

Where there be ancient holds they ’re crumbled 
low 

And ivy mantled. Round their idle walls 
Are clustered villages that look no more 
On ramparts fringed with steel, or else afar 
For hosts to siege them. There abideth peace 
And the Lord’s plenty. 

Eliz. * I am well content. 

Would that I saw beyond those further seas. 
Beyond those depths of sky, that I might know 
What harvest waiteth on this goodly seed. 


74 The Passing of the Queen 
Yet I ’m content, for my dear folk save well 
Their corn that hundred-foldeth from fate’s mill 
To sow it in hope’s fields. Yea, we may trust 
This heritage of savings to their hands 
And leave with them our hearts. — Let us go on 
Where merry piper flings his notes to sky 
For nimble feet to catch. [They go on. 

[Pointing to old Fielding.] He treadeth well 
That measure of lang syne. The sap of May 
Springs in his ancient veins and in his eyes 
The glory of high noon. Ho, see him prance 
With wooden leg in air as if the Lord 
Had blessed him with but one. 

Player. Yea, so he hath ; 

The other went in brave Armada days ; 

He ’s lighter for such shearing. 

Eliz. Thou know’st him ? 

Player. Yea, mistress, ’tis our craft to know 
brave men ; 

We make them not, but limn them as we may 
In sorry semblance tagged with noble names. 

We need his like — 

Eliz. To light the common herd 

Of nobles satiate with vacant deeds 
And proud of emptiness ? 

Player. Rather to light 


The Passing of the Queen 75 

The weary throng where’er its sorriness 
Doth darken life. 

[. Dancers swing to Elizabeth. 

Voice and Pipe . 

Mistress , with us tread this measure 
Once again on Hatfield green. 

That thy children know forever 
Here hath danced their loved Hjueen. 

Sharer of their toil and pleasure , 

Sharer of their joy and pain , 

Come , dear mistress , tread our measure , 

Dance for Hatfield once again . 

We will give thee for a partner 
Youth who ’s merry at fourscore . 

When a lad he tripped it with thee ; 

Bid him trip with thee once more . 

[Elizabeth dances with Fielding 
while all sing . 

Now our frolic hath its noonday , 

For our mistress shares our May ; 

Dance it, prance it, lads and lassies, 
Hatfield hath her own to-day . 

[Music and dance cease . 


76 The Passing of the Queen 

Eliz. [to Fielding]. Ah, playfellow, it all 
comes back to me, — 

Dear doings of old days. Thou wert well hid 
In what thou ’st won and lost. 

Fielding Yea, mistress dear, 

I marvelled too if my good lass was hid 
In all that haycock of thy furbelows. 

But she is there alive ; were she well shorn 
She *d foot it with the youngest. 

Eliz. Ay, she would, 

And willing stay a milkmaid all her days 
In these dear fields where ye all dance life out 
And let no sorrow in. How comes it, lad. 

Thou hast a peg to match a nimble foot ? 

Fielding. That came of dancing, mistress, in 
the rout 

You saw by Dover ; music went so fast 
I flung it in the sea and had to stump 
The measure to the end. 

Eliz. Ho, merry lad. 

Thou hadst the heart for it, — a heart that spares 
Of valour to thy king. 

[Biron and Attendants approach. 

Pipe and Voice. 

Mistress , now there comes a noble 
For thy greeting from his France ; 


The Passing of the Queen 77 
Make him welcome to our frolic , 

Bid him , mistress , to our dance . 

Eliz. [/a Biron]. Welcome, my lord, to this 
our Hatfield realm. 

An ancient suzerainty where custom holds 
All courts in blessed fields and pipes good friends 
To rustic audience. 

Biron. My gracious Queen, 

The wide world knows ye mistress of a realm 
That rangeth deep and high. 

Eliz. Well said, my lord. 

With kingly insight to fit place of kings 
And words to win their hearts. — ’T is a small land 
That here lies sconced amid the warring seas, — 
Scant room for venturing soul, if it but skim 
Upon the surface, but with depths and heights 
To tempt brave farer and reward his deeds 
Of exploration vast in realms unwon. 

Yea, I would have you see us as we are. 

As I would know your France from cot to throne 
And scan its hidden splendours ; but I ’m chained 
As galley slave to oar. 

Biron. Dear majesty, 

’T is but a step of sea that parts our realms, 

And o’er it waits a welcome that no king 
Hath ever given neighbour. 


78 The Passing of the Queen 
Eliz. I trust that well. 

For in my heart I treasure memory 
Of how when I was lone and fronted death 
There came a bidding from your noble land 
To roof tree’s shelter, hold where brave men dwelt 
With valiant swords to ward. Yea, I ’ll to France 
When this my task is done, and there begin 
My survey of God’s realm. Now let us on 
To glimpse this bit of it we call our own, — 

Fair sample of His favour. [ They go toward dancers .] 
See, my lord, 

These folk make merry in a welcome here 
And call on all the world to cap their joy. 

For they have back their love of long ago : 

’T is half a hundred years of memory 
That moves their gladdened hearts. Holds faith 
elsewhere 

The generations on from sire to son, 

’Scaping the churchyard’s silence ? 

Biron. Nay, my Queen, 

Ye show me here a crown that ne’er hath blessed 
The head or heart of king since Arcady, — 

A diadem sans thorns. 

Eliz. Yea, this tortures not, 

But balms the other’s wounds, though sore they be 
And fretted deep. Those torments are afar 


J 




The Passing of the Queen 79 
In that hard prison where our jewels lie ; 

You ’ll see them in fit time. [They go on to another 
dance.] Here courtiers dance 
To other measure than our simple folk 
And with half-hearted joy. List to their song : 
Ladies and Gentlemen of the Court . 

We frolic about in these fields 
Where the flowers send kisses to eyes 
With the lover who knows 
How fair is the rose , 

Why blossoms look up to the skies . 

We dance on the sod that did yield 
To the dint of Proserpina' s feet 
As she flew from the fate 
That all youth doth await 
T 0 find her swift lover too fleet. 

We gather the blossoms let fall 
As he bore her forever away , — 

Her daffodils prim 

And her violets dim 

That tell where the maiden did stray . 

Here we youths and we maidens all 
Tread on in the measure we sing. 


8o 


The Passing of the Queen 
For this day is our own 
But the morrow for none 9 
So we dance while the fair blossoms spring . 
Biron. ’T is nobly done. 

Eliz. Ay, in the noble’s way. 

With a faint sense of gods who are far off 
And none of dear Lord here. Yokels for that: 
They sing my old heart’s song of His own earth 
And lusty life upon it. [ To Cecil.] Cecil, here ; 
Set this twain kingdom’s welcome for our guest. 
Have him dance well and right well know our folk; 
Then bring him to us in our England’s hold. 

[To Biron.] My lord, we meet again ; alas ! else- 
where. 

And not in Arcady. [Parts from Biron. 

[To Playerl\ We will go down 

Into yon vale where evening’s shadows creep 
For office that hath waited in my heart 
Through all our festival this fitting time, 

When peace hath come through the dear sense of 
fields 

And love that broodeth there, — to Ashley’s tomb. 

[They slowly go down the slope . 

Song and Pipe [in distance ]. 

In and out tread swift the measure , 

Weaving love in warp of gold ; 


The Passing of the Queen 8i 

W eave in it all May-day* s pleasure 
So it all our joying hold. 

So *t will be forever shelter 
With its warmth from wintry cold 
And our mistress in love* s raiment 
All her lifetime close enfold. 

On the dance : the day is dying , 

All *s to do and naught is done 
Till our golden web is woven ; 

Shape it ere the set of sun. 

End of Scene. 

SCENE IV 

Chapel at Ashley’s Tomb. 

Elizabeth, kneeling before Ejfgy ; Player a little 

apart. 

Eliz. \rising]. Come hither, master, flayer 
draws near.] Oh, you knew her not. 
Player. Nay, mistress, save in eyes that loved 
her here 

And light at her dear name. That better tells 


82 The Passing of the Queen 
Than all vain seeing of the moment’s sight 
Or pictured memories. 

Eliz. Yea, ’t is dear life 

Still clinging on in living eyes and hearts 
That beat beside its own. Alas, it dies 
Into the darkness when the lover ’s dead, — 

Mere dust of memory. 

Player. See, mistress, there 

The sun goes forth to darkness ; soon in sky 
Will be forgetfulness of his brave reign 
Save glint that stars may send ; yet all this earth 
Feels day’s vast pulses throbbing through the 
night 

And answers to their beat in opening blooms 
And song of lark ere dawn. Dear are our eyes, 
But they can never show us how in dark 
Great day is master still. 

Eliz. [musingly \ . Ah, I came here 

To take her greeting. Here is shaped stone 
As some poor frozen corse hurled from the deep, 

A castaway upon the land it loved. 

Grim mockery of life. — He bids me know 
What passeth mortal eyes ; to feel the stir 
That quicks this shrouding numbness. Yea, ’t is 
vain ; 

For death is very death, and we stay lone 


The Passing of the Queen 83 
With deeps impassable to bar our souls 
From love that is no more. 

[Elizabeth bows weeping . A ray of set- 
ting sun falls on image of Ashley , mak- 
ing it glow as with life . Elizabeth 
looks up. 

Great God ! she lives, 
Life’s music on her lips and in her eyes 
A faith that scorneth death. My Kate, my Kate, 

I shamed thee with the doubt that thou wouldst die 
And leave me friendless here ; that our dear Lord 
Would chain thee past yon sea and leave me stay 
Forever orphaned. Speak, oh, speak to me 
That I have heart with word ! 

[Elizabeth stands listening. 

Voice and Pipe in distance. 

Now the web of life is woven 
Ere the sun hath found the sea ; 

In it 's all our hope and joying ; 

It shall to our mistress be 

Raiment ' gainst the frost of winter , 

God's good warmth when skies are cold ; 

All the night 7 will keep the sunshine 
Of this day that ne'er 'll be old. 


84 The Passing of the Queen 

[The light fades from the image . Player 
leads Elizabeth away. 

Eliz. [ looking back\ . ’T was miracle of God, but 
it is gone 

From earth forever; yet within my soul 
It shall forever stay. 

Player. Yea, we saw there 

The kiss of sun upon a clod of earth, 

And love sprung to our eyes. [They pass out . 

End of Scene. 


SCENE V 

Tower of Hatfield House at Night. 
Elizabeth and Player . 

Elizabeth. ’T is good to look into the dark 
away. 

So it be friendly, full of love that sleeps 
Beside its loving deeds, — with glint from cot 
Where weary toil makes merry, or where watch 
The tender eyes that care life in or out 
Of God’s great hostel. 

Player. ’T is friendlier than day. 

Yea, like true lover it doth bid us send 


85 


The Passing of the Queen 
Our souls to plant its spaces to our will 
And harvest as we may. 

Eliz. Oh, but it holds 

That villain Satan in it. Well I mind 
How twice of yore I ’ve gazed within its deep 
To see that demon marching o’er my land, 
Striding from hill to hill, and with each tread 
Setting a balefire’s flame to fright the sky 
And wake still earth to thunder. First it was 
To tell me an immortal shame was done, 

When from the north the beacons flared it out 
And burnt it on my heart. Again I looked 
Into this ancient dark from London Tower 
To hear how from the south the clamouring 
tongues 

Cried, ‘ The Armada ’s come,’ and on and on 
Leaped the swift demon till ere summer’s morn 
He flamed it to all hearts. 

Player. Yea, mistress, still 

All hearts hold fast that flame, and on and on 
They ’ll send it to their sons for thousand years. 
They knew it England’s morning ; still they keep 
The brands of that great burning treasured well 
Upon the hilltops as the ancients held 
Their altars ready for the sacrifice. 

And every passer giveth to the store 


86 The Passing of the Queen 
That waiteth torch to light again their land 
In a great burning where men’s souls are fused 
For noble life or death. 

Eliz. Yea, well I know 

The dawn that ushers unto earth the day 
Sung in by lark, with all its train of joys : 

It cometh not from balefires on our hills ; 

They breed but roar and ashes, wrack of war 
And scars indelible. 

Player. Dear mistress, flame ’s a tongue 

That uttereth many things. — Hark to that song 
Of folk that climb yon hill. 

Voice and Pipe . 

Now our frolic is near ended ; 

Soon we 'll round it with a sleep , 

For our wits and legs are drowsy : 

Scarce they 've tugged us up this steep . 

Eliz. Ay, dear folk, ye have danced dull care 
away. 

Voice and Pipe . 

'Fore we fare to our forgetting , 

We will to all England send 
Hail for day all have had with us , 

Greeting for its happy end. 

Eliz. My player, thou art fit for mastery 
Of pageants ’fore God’s throne ! 


The Passing of the Queen 87 
Voice and Pipe . 

Mistress , see we light bonfires 
Where the balefires flared of yore ; 

Pound them all thy folk are dancing. 

For those sorry days are o'er. 

Eliz. See, now the flames leap up from every 
hill 

And flicker far until the earth is set 
With stars to match the heaven ! 

Voice and Pipe . 

Then they snatched their arms and hastened , 
Brave of heart yet sorrowing ; 

Now their fardels heap their bonfires 
While they to thee joying sing : 

Shepherd of our England's pastures , 

Helper good on all our ways , 

Warder of our joy and toiling. 

Take the blessing of our days . 

Eliz. ]musingly\ . Here I should die and to that 
blessing trust 

To give me my assoil. — ’T is done, ’t is done : 
The lights go down and singers to their sleep ; 
The rest is for the darkness, and our hearts, 

Which should be filled for aye. 

[T 0 Player .] My player, there is sorrow in this joy ; 


88 The Passing of the Queen 

Its gifts, its merry pipe, its frolic dance, — 

All hold the during sadness that knows well 
How night comes after day. 

Player. Yea, mistress mine, 

God’s realm is rich in springs ; but ye now drink 
Of all the noblest, for its waters hold 
Life’s joys and sorrows mingled : those who quaff 
Have with immortals drunk the immortal spring 
That slaketh thirst of dust. They nevermore 
Shall shout of childhood’s pleasures or its pains 
Or weep by open graves ; but silently 
Go with their Lord in peace His realm about, 
With heart for all its lessons and still joy 
For all those lessons give. 

Eliz. Lend me an age, 

A thousand years for seeing, and I ’ll take 
Of thy philosophy for ripened souls ; 

But this mine own ’s still raw, - — of clamouring 
dust 

That thirsteth ever for the common springs 
That slake our mortal greeds ; yet I would drink, 
Were it of Lethe, could I win to peace 
That holdeth sorrow dear, for I should be 
The richest of all shades. 

Player. Unto our lips 

Kind fate doth press this cup and bids us drink 


The Passing of the Queen 89 
What we deem bitterness, to find it sweet 
From the eternal spring. 

Eliz. So comes the end 

Of all this noble pageant, where the love 
Of loving folk poured into dusty heart 
In streams to bless a desert leaves its sands. 

Crying their dearth to heaven. 

Player. Yet they have 

The waters ’neath them, mighty sun in sky, 

And Husbandman who knoweth well His fields : 
The harvests dare not lack. 

Eliz. Ah, man, fond man. 

Ye’d cap a pyramid of groans with song 
And make us deem it blessed, light mountainous ills 
With glint of morning, and lead on our souls 
Into the promised land. 

Player. Yea, that I would. 

For ’t is but song and light that makes earth’s dust 
Be else than hell. 

Eliz. And still souls cry 

To be remembered past the great forgetting 
That sums all deeds and wipes the score away. 

Player. Mistress, this breath that ’s ours is but 
the air 

All men have breathed and sent back to the store 
Of the wide sky. — Each gives his little share 


90 The Passing of the Queen 
To everlasting garners whence are fed 
All toilers for all time. 

Eli z. But where is love 

That brightens morn ? The sight of eyes that 
cheer ? 

Nay, my wise man, medicaments are vain 
To death’s immortal wound. 

Player. Last night we slept, 

And in the sightless dark we found our way 
Where nought was save our fancy and the Lord : 
Yet it was friendly there, for ’tis His realm. 

This fear is but the nightmare of our days ; 

Brave souls know well, e’en while the terror holds. 
That it is but a shadow swift to fade 
When once they break the spell. 

Eliz. Oh, I have watched 

The generations of my people rise. 

Fed on their favour while they thought that mine 
Was meat and drink to them, so that my soul 
Is but an echo of their happiness. 

While that doth ring within me I ’ll live on ; 
When it doth fall away then I must die, 

Though I be by His throne and hear the song 
Of all His angels. 

Player. Yea, ’t is mortal’s need : 

So must we on with those near whom we ’ve fared. 


The Passing of the Queen 91 
Who know our hearts and faces. A true king 
Goes with his kingdom on the endless way ; 

Or if it be he sleeps, sleeps in the fold 
With all who knew him shepherd by his side. 

Eliz. Ah, player, thou art master of that pipe 
Men name philosophy and tune to lift 
Their minds above earth’s dust and glare of sky. 
’T is sure not merry music, yet its fall — 

Its dying fall — hath might to bear us far. 

With thee and our good sage we have a choir 
To sing us past our sleep. — This rings as jest. 

But it knows sorrow too. 

Player. So it should be, 

For sorrow at its noblest hath the note 
Of merry lark that mounts to joyful day, 

Scorning dark earth below. Yea, in the end, 
When night eternal surges through Time’s halls 
And spurns its dwellers forth, a laugh will ring, — 
A laugh that tells that life doth know its day 
Safe in God’s garner, though it sorrowing goes 
Forth to a realm unknown. 

Eliz. Good prophet, let us in. 

Mayhap this day hath sown seed that the night 
Will wake in that hard desert. [They go in. 

End of Scene. 


92 


The Passing of the Queen 


SCENE VI 

Balcony at Hatfield. 

Elizabeth and Player . 

Elizabeth. No lark sings up this morn, but sul- 
lenly 

The weary sun climbs out his tired bed 
And sets him to his tasks as though he grudged 
His duty by this earth. 

Player. But yesterday 

Both lark and sun had overmuch to do 
To serve their eager mistress. Let them drowse; 
They ’ll be in fair time merry, when she calls 
With merry heart to them. 

Eliz. Oh, my player. 

Our heart is not a pipe that we may rule 
With breath and nimble fingers as we will 
To joy or sadness. All its music ’s writ 
By the hard fates on their immortal scrolls 
For us to render. 

Player. Mistress, thou art sad : 

What came to dark the night of that fair day 
This good world set for thee ? 

Eliz. The during shame 

Of villain doubt, that masketh all its best 


The Passing of the Queen 93 
And maketh honesty seem but a guise 
Of stalking greeds, made all my happy folk, 

Who poured their trusting souls into mine own. 
Dance grinning Tore me all the weary night 
Like puppets pulled by strings. It is the ail 
That curses kings, that makes them loathe their 
crowns 

And envy poorest vassal who doth trust 
His fellow slaves. Ay, thou hast seen me touch 
For the King’s evil loathsome, stricken things 
That hap they ’d heal. But ever as I ’ve done 
This sorest office, I have known my need 
Was fearfuller than theirs. 

Player. Dear mistress, would that kings 

Alone knew of this ill ; all share of it, 

Though all unknowing how true faith in men 
Is health of heaven, lack of it the ail 
That most torments the damned. 

Eliz. That is plain said ; 

Good friend, thou art no courtier, but true leech 
That seeth malady, be it of soul. 

And way to remedy. 

Player. ’T is but a touch. 

It needeth but a touch of Master’s hand 
Sent by His poorest servant, and ’t is done, — 

This miracle unceasing of all days. 


94 The Passing of the Queen 

Eliz. Ah, leech, how come we by that won- 
drous cure 

Until we need no healing ? I ’ve touched faith, 
The faith of brave and true. — Yea, never king 
Hath had such service from the life of man 
Laid willing at his feet. — But it hath come 
For love of land and throne, for valour’s pay 
For valour’s deeds, — yea, ever with the hands 
Outstretched for sorry tokens. Nay, not all : 

Some hands were limp in death before was chance 
To claim their pay; alas, and one went forth, 

To bide the mystery of all my days. 

Whom I thanked not for life. 

Player. Not yet hath come 

His servant for thy need. 

[Sound of Pipe and Singers in distance . 
Eliz. Yea, but here comes 

The moment’s cure for that sad ail of kings 
In honest country faces. Could I look 
All days and nights upon them, I should die 
Without my leech’s help. Now we ’ll to them 
For greeting and farewell. [They go in. 

End of Scene . 


The Passing of the Queen 95 


SCENE VII 

Gate at Hatfield House. Storm gathering . 
Elizabeth and People . 

Voice and Pipe . 

Mistress , go not from our roof tree , 

Shelter good in stormy days : 

Let these paths keep thee forever ; 

Tread not other , weary ways . 

Hatfield' s earth is full of blossoms 
That will spring not if ye hie ; 

And the host that sprang to greet thee 
With thy going swift will die . 

Elizabeth. Dear folk, what goeth is what can- 
not bide ; 

But here there stayeth all that God hath given 
Of heaven’s love and trust. Ye’ll keep my 
heart 

When all else is away. 

Voice and Pipe . 

Mistress , it is dear to fold thee 
In our hearts , but in our eyes 
Rather we would living hold thee 
As we hold the suns that rise . 


96 The Passing of the Queen 

Shepherdless thy flock will wander 
Hapless o'er the dreary hills , 

And the ploughman dream no harvest , 

Though he deep the good earth tills ; 

For the sun will to its setting. 

He hath waited unto morn ; 

He will ask hut good forgetting. 

For he will be all forlorn . 

Eliz. Nay, nay, dear folk, I ’m sure ye love me 
well. 

For me ye ’ll tend the hundred-folding corn, 

Nurse well these fields, and care for all their kine, 

Though I be far away ; — as I shall toil 

For all my realm in memory of ye 

Who ’ve made me know earth dear. Alas ! we part ; 

Our eyes shall nevermore share light again 

Until we share God’s welcome. 

Voice and Pipe . 

Farewell, mistress, we will treasure 
All thy ways but this that took 
Our true love from us forever ; 

There we 'll never, never look . 

But to sun that brings the morning 
And to first star in the eve 


The Passing of the Queen 97 
We shall look to find our lover : 

Mistress } look y and with us grieve 

That this world , of old so merry , 

Now ’s to be a world so sad 
For knit hearts that must be parted , 

Hearts that were together glad . 

[. Procession disappears . 
End of Scene. 


SCENE VIII 

Looking across the Valley to Hatfield. 
Elizabeth, Cecil, Player. 

Elizabeth \to Player ]. Here let me rest and 
look back on the way 

Where in the years of old so oft I ’ve stayed 
To see the glory of the morn and eve 
Sweep o’er this noble world. Last time it was 
When forth they led me to set England’s crown 
Upon my frighted head. ’T was morn so fair. 

So jewelled in the sky, I thought to ’scape 
As some poor fawn from hunters, and to hie 
To wood or cot for shelter from the chase 
Of hard world seeking for its altar’s needs. 


98 The Passing of the Queen 

’T was fifty years agone, and now I go 
Once more to crowning ; with like mocking crown 
They ’ll set upon the image that they bear 
In silence to God’s house. [Looks away.~\ Alas ! 
see how 

The rage of winter, sent to mar this May, 
Shroudeth my Hatfield, blotting it from earth 
As surge doth blot a name writ in the sand. 

So God doth shut us out. [To Cecil.] Come, 
Cecil, now 

Thou art once more the master, and thy thrall 
Will turn the treadmill of her daily task, 

The last of all earth’s uses that doth stay 
Of the once merry round 

Player [pointing]. See, mistress, there 

The mighty day hath won : the parted clouds 
Shrink ’fore its glory, and thy Hatfield lies 
As babe in mother’s arms. 

Eliz. Yea, God is good 

In proving me a sinner in my doubt 
That day lives past the night. — Now let us on ; 
Our task here is accomplished. 

End of Act Third . 


ACT FOURTH 

SCENE I 

Tower of London. 

Elizabeth, Cecil. 

Elizabeth. 

’M weary, Cecil, and this evil place 
Weighs down my heavy soul. 

Cecil. Why comes my liege 

Through these dark gates when she 
might keep the air 
Of her fair Richmond ? 

Eliz. For it is her own, 

Hated yet dear, the palace of her race. 

All others are mere tents or bowers gay ; 

This is the seat of time outduring might. 

With strength and justice for its seneschals. 

’T was a rude day that chained me in these walls. 
Watching the axe. And yet ’t is fit a king 
Should know a dungeon ere he knows his throne : 
So doth he learn his part. — Oh, but ’t is strange : 
There stood the girl before the men they sent 



ioo The Passing of the Queen 
To find her way to death, unfriended, lone. 

Until there came that marvel from the fields 
To tell her folk beside her in her woe. 

Cecil. What came, my Queen ? 

Eliz. You know not ? 

Cecil. It is writ 

That Arundel came to you in your plight 
To plead for you, though he was sent to judge ; 
The story saith no more. 

Eliz. That earl was brave 

As fits a coxcomb’s valour. ’T was well done, — 
A pretty touch that showed and had reward ; 

It did not save. 

Cecil. Who came, my Queen, to you 

And whence ? 

Eliz. Ah, man, ’t is long ago. Our histories 
Are like the fishers’ nets that catch the small ; 

The mighty things break through. ’T is long ago. 
He came and went but thrice, each time to save — 
And then he came no more. Sometimes I think 
He was my folk incarnate in a youth 
Of rugged splendour, seen by me alone. 

My noble daemon. Then I see his eyes : 

A daemon’s were not merry, and his danced 
With all the frolic of a thousand Mays. 

Or hear his quarterstaff upon the casques 


IOI 


The Passing of the Queen 
Of Wyatt’s men when they would bear me forth 
To be that villain’s banner, — how he drave 
The pack before him with his shout and jeer. 

Arid came back for no thanks. ’T was thrice we 
met ; 

Each time I owed him life, ay, more than life, 
And yet I thanked him not, clutched at his gifts 
As babe at offered sweets. Yea, there be kings 
Who go uncrowned amid the multitude 
With jerkin covered hearts, so big they may 
Give unto sovereign, as we to a child, 

But to awake their joy. 

Cecil. But he ’s forgot — 

Eliz. Yea, it is best : he was so natural. 

So in and of that day, that with its eve 
He passed out as the sun. Mayhap he lives, 

Old, bent, and blind, and wonders if the lass, 

His England’s lass, remembers. Would he knew 
Her life is memory of those brave days ! 

[They go on. 

Here, Cecil, came, that morn I fronted death, 

A little child that brought me a poor bloom 
Pale with the prison shadow, frail and wan 
As the dear hand that gave it. God alone 
Can give such largess ; yea, ’t was the first light 
He sent unto that darkness ; from it came 


102 The Passing of the Queen 
Good heart to face my torment, else I ’d died 
For fear of death, or cast me to those wolves. — 

[They go on . 

A thousand years of this have trod these stones. 
Oh, they are hard, else they would have worn out 
’Neath tramp of sorrow. 

Enter Officer of Tower. 

Officer. My liege, Lord Biron waits your 
welcome here ; 

Shall he approach ? 

Eliz. Ay, we would have him here. 

Enter Biron and Train . 

Welcome once more, my lord. The first we gave 
Was in our blessed fields ; this we give here 
Is in an olden house where England’s kings 
Have held their jewels fast, their arms and crowns 
And the hard duty of the law that ’s stayed 
Their thrones these ages long. ’T is a grim hold. 
But richer than our gilded palaces 
And meeter for our converse ; for here bides 
Wealth that they know not in great memories 
With lessons for great hearts to bear away. 

Biron. Dear majesty. 

Where’er it comes your greeting is the morn. 

’T is very good here in your Tower’s walls. 

The fortress of your realm. I much have known 


The Passing of the Queen 103 
Of its vast store from one who was my friend. 
Though first my foe, — the dearer for the arms 
That gave me goodly schooling. 

Eliz. Yea, we know: 

You were our kinsman’s friend, and when you came 
To take our greeting he came back to us. 

Ah, ye are strangely like. Who could believe 
This aged earth would bear us such fair twins 
To bless a generation ! ’T is a bond 
That knits you to us. He was very dear, 

And his sad passing blotted out our days 
And dimmed all light beyond. 

Biron. You are my Queen, 

For he my brother made me liegeman true 
Unto the liege he loved. 

Eliz. Oh, we knew that 

And else to steep our sorrow in the gall 
Of bitterness past death. — Let us go forth : 

We need the light of heaven for our look 
Into the deeps. [They go out upon a platform?^ Good : 
here is blessed day, 

Framed by these surly ramparts, yet the day 
With air that ’s swept the corn. — My lord, thou art 
The flower of our France, that once we held 
Chained to our throne, now held with bonds of 
love ; 


104 The Passing of the Queen 
And eke his kinsman by some fatal tie 
That maketh aliens nearer in their lives 
Than if they ’d waxed together in one womb 
And nestled near one heart. Yea, I am old 
And ‘rich in honours, yet I would give all 
I ’ve had and hoped could I the mother be 
To two such men, — ay, be a caitiff’s slave 
Could I have saved them to God’s sacred use. 

[She bows her head ' 
Biron. Nay, my noble Queen, 

You are the mother of a mighty realm 
And all its brave your sons. 

Eliz They are the sons 

Of this strong state, but they know me alone 
As a hard foster mother who would rule 
Their errant wills to order. ’T is fair work 
To build this temple of a commonwealth 
Shaped out of earth’s rude stones. — Come here, 
my lord ; 

Look from this cannon’s port. What see you there ? 
Biron. A mighty town, my Queen, and past it 
far 

A world of fields and thorpes where dwell your folk 
In happy myriads. 

Eliz. Many churchyards too, 

Where dwells the dust of generations gone, 


The Passing of the Queen 105 
An hundred fold the living. What hath come 
From all this heat of life and chill of death 
Unto God’s store ? 

Biron. Ah, dear my Queen, good joy : 

A pinch of dust with life in it breeds joy • 
That sends its cry to heaven. 

Eliz. ’T is but a cry. 

And the far deep sends it no echo back. 

My lord, what lives is what we treasure here : 

The faith of man to man, stored in the trust 
They bear their state ; the love that giveth life 
So commonwealth may live and be enriched 
By ever faithful giving. 

Biron. Yea, my Queen, 

’T is true man’s part to die for his dear realm. 
Eliz. Ah, Biron, that ’s not hard ; ’t is hard to 
live y 

True man and helper of a commonwealth. 

That needs man’s valour, yet it needeth more, — 
The humble, giving heart. All men would rule ; 
True nobles are born kings, but not elect 
To rule their native realms. There is the rub : 
They hunger for a sceptre and they set 
Their might against their throne, and then they 
fall 

As stars loosed from the sky. — See there, my lord, 


106 The Passing of the Queen 
Upon our battlements those ugly things: 

Know you what they are ? 

Biron. Nay, my Queen, I see 

That they are strange, no more. 

Eliz. They are the heads 

Of half my kindred, — men whom Satan won 
To treason’s ways. There is thy brother’s set 
Last of that royal line. 

Biron \looking intently ]. Great God, ’t is true ! 
This is the gate of hell. [Turns away faint . 

Eliz. Oh, no, my lord, 

That gate is gay ; there merry faces look 
With eager becks to lead the farer on 
In his presumptuous way. — Thou art a man 
And soldier proved on fields, yet thou art sick 
Seeing these monuments ; a woman I, 

Who never saw the slain, and yet I look 
Unshaken on them, for they are the proof 
That England’s law is just and England’s throne 
Is law’s true servant. Know, my lord, a King 
Hath such hard duty ; if he be a King, 

And not a base usurper, he will die 
With shame if he doth fail it. 

Biron. But mercy, mercy, — 

Where is the mercy that should heal such ills 
And spare thy land and name ? 


The Passing of the Queen 107 
Eliz. It is not here ; 

Here gentle mercy hides her shamed head 
And bids the law to smite. She hath not lacked 
Speech in her fitting place, she oft hath saved. 

The last did scorn her : all the prayers of men 
Shook not his mighty purpose ; so he died 
Of his own heart and hand and slew his Queen. — 

[Pauses. 

Oh Biron, take this lesson ; see the throne 
Is but the law ; and how he who doth smite 
That law is traitor to his fellow men, 

And, if he have a King, will surely die. 

Biron. Alas ! my Queen, your words are as the 
fates 

Written in adamantine, — oh, my heart is sore. 

Eliz. So we would have it, that this lesson stay. 
With sorrow for thy hurt. God send it spare 
Sorer in days to come. — And now we go 
Unto our parting: would we could see you past 
That gate through which you fare ; but we are old 
And must upon our journey. — May some light 
Come to you when you tell of this hard Queen 
Unto your children’s sons in some far day 
When age hath crowned your honour, and your 
folk 

Watch for your parting. 


[Biron retires . 


108 The Passing of the Queen 
Eliz. [musingly]. Cursed are these instruments 
of pitiless fate 

That men name Kings. They should be born of 
flint 

And reck no more than does yon empty sky 
Of all the storms that sweep it. So might live 
A sovereign to the end, in semblance fair 
Of mortal flesh, yet be, as he needs be. 

At heart a demon set to do God’s work. 

[To Cecil.] Ah, my good Cecil, it was over- 
much ; 

I ’m weary unto death, for I have failed. 

There be good hearts that are impenetrate 
Even to lessons by the lightnings writ, — 

And learn but from their follies. — Here I bide 
And sleep the night. 

Cecil. My Queen, this place 

Hath walls that keep the sorrows of your life ; 

You should away. 

Eliz. Cecil, they cannot give 

More than my soul doth hold. There was a time 
When they were loathsome; now there is good 
cheer 

In their still grimness. They have word for me 
As yet half said. ’T was here came up my sun 
Upon a stormy morning ; here I ’ll see 


The Passing of the Queen 109 

The day go to the night, and wait what comes 
If there be morn again. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE II 

The Tower. 

Cecil, Lieutenant of Tower , Tire-women . 
Cecil. Her majesty lies here to-night. 
Lieutenant. Nay, nay, my lord. 

This must not be, for in the midnight time 
There are strange doings here. ’T is grim the noon ; 
But in the night ’t is fearful : our old guards. 
Brave, hardened men, dare not to watch alone. 
And from their posts come white and stiff with 
fear. 

It may bring death to her. 

Tire-woman. We shall all die 

If we bide here : we ’d willing die for her 
In some fit place, not in this charnel-house. 

We will away. 

Cecil [to Tire-women ]. Shame on your coward 
hearts ! 

Your mistress at your age here waited death 
For weary months, unfended and alone. 


iio The Passing of the Queen 
Stayed by her trust in God ; and now ye shrink 
From ghosts that harm not. Get ye to your tasks 
And with good merry faces. I will sleep 
Beside her door : these spectres know I feared 
Nought of their living might, and little care 
For their poor ghosts. [To Lieutenant .] Double the 
guards without. 

And let them hold their peace, whatever comes 
In else than mortal shape. Lie with me there 
Where we may haste to her. Nothing will come ; 
But if she frights, ’t will help if we are by. 

Have music near her chamber ; it may give 
Her weary spirit peace. [ They go out . 

End of Scene. 


SCENE III 

Queen’s Room in Tower. 

Elizabeth and Lieutenant of Tower. 
Elizabeth. Good warder, we would forth upon 
the walls : 

We know this place by day, yea, much by night. 
But as celled captive. We would see our hold 
As it hath stood these ages in the dark, 

A mighty fortress biding for the dawn, 


Ill 


The Passing of the Queen 
For the far time when it shall be no more 
Than playground of our people, daisied mound 
Where children sport. 

Lieutenant. My liege, ’t is dark without ; 
This is no palace, and its paths are rude : 

May \ please you to bide here. 

Eliz. Nay, we will forth 

As with another warder on a morn 
When it was darker far than in this night. 

[They go forth . 

End of Scene . 


SCENE IV 

Battlements of Tower. 

Queen, looking forth; Lieutenant. 

Elizabeth. Dost thou remember, warder, that 
black morn 

When the Armada went by Dover’s steep ? 

Lieutenant. Ay, well, my liege, for then I 
was a youth 

Who felt him all a king, for his dear place 
Was by you in your guard. 

Eliz. That was a morn ! 

When our good castle peered above the wrack 


1 12 The Passing of the Queen 
Of mighty battle rolling on and on 
So that the ancient walls firm set in rock 
To their foundations quaked, and all our land. 
Knit to one valour, waited for the stroke 
That should bear England down. — Yea, now ’tis 
good 

To see the lights of peace glint from my town 
And far away in land, and know my folk 
May to their beds in joy, never to fear 
Again such morning. 

Lieut. Ay, my Queen, your deeds 

Have builded us a wall this realm about 
And stored in it a might none dare assail 
To bide with us forever. 

Eliz. Forever is o’er long, 

Yet here it is to stay as aught may stay 
Where good and ill contend. [ Looking at Tower.] 
These time-worn walls 
Are nobler in the night : it is their realm, 

And grandly do they rule it. — Like an isle 
That lifts its steeps above the eternal sea, 

Hurling its surges back, set by the Lord 
To be a bound unto that wilderness 
Of wasting tempests and fierce treacheries. — 

Oh, but how black the darkness ’neath that tower 
That heaves its bulk to sky ! 


The Passing of the Queen 113 

Lieut. See ye aught there? 

Eliz. Nay, warder, nothing there save what we 
would. 

But much thou seest not. We’re here at home 
With welcome from the ages of our life 
And lives before. — Now we will in and rest. 

End of Scene . 


SCENE V 

Walls of Tower. 

Roderick and Barnard, Old Officers of the Tower , 
watching near Queen’s Chamber . 

Roderick. Hast thou e’er hungered for a fel- 
low’s life ? 

Barnard. Ay, I was once a man and knew 
what ’t is 

To hear the clamour for the life of knave 
Drown that for my dear own. 

Rod. What didst thou then ? 

Barnard. Whiles to the priest to shrive me ere 
’t was done ; 

Betimes the knave hath craved him ’fore did I, 
Because his shrift was short. 

Rod. 


Come any back ? 


1 14 The Passing of the Queen 
Barnard. Mayhap some do ; but mine stay 
where they lie 

As fits the wights who ’ve seen overmuch of men : 
They find it better there, though it be hot. 

Rod. Lies not their death upon thee ? 
Barnard. Nay, why should ’t ? 

They went to light my load. They are dead 
knaves : 

This sea swims better with such folk deep down 
Upon its quiet floor. 

Rod. Ye know what cometh here 

To lift our bonnets. List! There, — on that 
way, — [. Pointing to shadows . 

The cry of Norfolk haled unto the block. 

See ! there, the silent train that stately goes, 

A woman leading, noble as a queen : 

Is it our lady Jane ? 

Barnard. Nay, man, thou ’rt wild ; 

There’s nothing there but moonshine and mad 
wits; 

They ’ll shape the devil in a bit of dark. 

But one brave step will chase him. Let us go 
And cross it with our swords. 

Rod. Hold ! that were shame ; 

For these poor ghosts have here a moment’s 
draught, 


The Passing of the Queen 115 
Though it be from the lees of life’s good wine, 

A sorry drink, yet dear to thirsty souls, 

For it hath smack of day. 

Barnard [looking intently]. Nay, she thirsts not, 
For she is with the Lord. — More like the Queen 
They slew at Fotheringay. 

Rod. Behold, there comes 

Our master, Essex ; yea, we knew him well 
And may not doubt ’t is he. Sorrow and might 
Were never set as there upon a man. 

Barnard. I ’gin to be a fool along with thee ; 
’T is something strangely like, — yea, it is like. 
For all it is but fancy and the moon 
That sets him here. — I ’ll speak to him. [Goes 
swiftly to shadow .] My lord, 

I was the comrade of the shape ye wear. 

If ye be shade of Essex, speak to me 
And send me on your service in this world 
Or in that where ye bide. 

[Shade looks towards Barnard, then steps 
quickly away. 

Rod. He would have spoke ; 

But then some strange compulsion bore him hence 
As if he came here back for certain quest. 

Barnard. Nay, man, it is once more mere 
phantasy 


n6 The Passing of the Queen 
Whene’er we cross them, they prove but vain 
dreams. 

Seen in our sleeping eyes we think are wide. — 

’T was strangely like; would he had spoke to me. 
For even in a dream it would be good 
To hear his voice again. 

Rod. Old friend, thou know’st 

It was our master all save for his dust; 

He hath some errand grave, and so doth put 
For time his friends aside. Our liege sleeps here; 
Mayhap he goes to greet her. 

Barnard. Goes to her ? 

Would I had guessed his errand ; I ’d have stayed 
His going with my life, made me a ghost 
That I might thwart his purpose. 

Rod. Nay, we here 

May question not their deeds. He ’s dear to her. 
And she is near to him; ’t is but a step 
That parts her from her lover. Hap he goes 
To guide her weary feet upon the way : 

For that the Lord might send him. ’T were a grace 
To lend her such good help. 

Barnard. ’T is Satan’s work. 

Masked as the Lord’s. For those twin kingly souls 
Are doomed to rend each other all their days 
Here and hereafter. Ay, they lovers be. 


The Passing of the Queen 117 
But by the devil each appointment hath 
To be the other’s torment. Let us give 
Swift message of this coming. 

Rod. Nay, we ’re bid 

To take no note of shadows. What can we 
Against their might ? They easy pass our swords. 
Leaving our grossness fumbling with the air 
While they straight to their deeds. \A cry is 
heard .] Hark that cry 

As of a woman kneeling at the block ! 

Oh God, our Queen hath found now in her hold 
The fate Thy mercy spared her ! 

Barnard. Let us in : 

Mayhap there ’s stuff for steel left in this world. 

[ They go in. 

End of Scene. 


SCENE VI 

Chamber of Elizabeth. 

Dim light ; Women lying near. A Procession moves 
in distance. Elizabeth starts up. 
Elizabeth. Where am I ? Who are ye that 
silent come 

And make me proud obeisance? — Yea, I know : 


118 The Passing of the Queen 
This is the end of all. — Come on ; my soul 
Hath welcome for ye. — Hail, cousin Norfolk, 

We sent thee forth to wait us : we are here 
To take thy greeting and to give account 
Of thy swift going ; we have nought to fear ; 

Our Lord doth know thee well. [> Spirit moves on m 
silence .] So ’t is no word ? 

Is silence then the doom for villain lies 
Done on yon earth ? Ah, then we change no' 
words 

In all the age to come. [Queen of Scots appears .] 
Hail, noble Queen ! 

We met not there below, but all that world 
Had not like splendour. Oh, look not so hard 
Upon thy rival, for she did no more 
Than thou hadst done hadst thou but held her place 
With throne to guard. — [Spirit moves on.] Go not 
without a word : 

Thou art our sister, and thy greeting here 
Would light our weary heart. [Procession moves on . ] 
Hail, all ye host ! 

Had your vast might and valour stayed with us 
It were a wondrous England we had left. — 

Look not your rage at us : it was our axe 
That smote ye here, but ’t was your treacherous 
deeds 


The Passing of the Queen 119 
That bade it fall. Ay, we will answer give 
Unto our God who knows the traitor’s work 
And stroke it earns. He sent your master forth 
And hath not vengeance for the kings who do 
Like justice on His earth. Ye bring no fear 
To shake us ’fore His throne; yea, be ye there 
And say your worst of us. [Shade of Essex ap- 
proaches, slowly.] Essex, Essex, 

Come not in this old darkness to my heart ; 

Wait till my task is done, until His word 
Hath given judgment. — Still it is the dark 
That baffled hearts below. — Nay, thou art 
sad : 

Come in the light beyond and I will beg 
For sentence to thy realm and bear what comes 
For blessed hope. [Essex still approaches Eliza- 
beth.] Away, away ! 

Nor here, my Essex, for the night lives on 
In this foul limbo with its shame and hate. 

[Essex moves swiftly to her . 
Ho ! he would slay me. [Shrieks and wakes . 

Enter Cecil. 

Cecil. Oh, what harms my Queen ? 

Eliz. Where am I, Cecil ? 

Cecil. Here, my Queen, and safe ; 

Here in your hold with all your folk to fend. 


* 


120 The Passing of the Queen 

Eliz. Oh God, he smote me back into this 
life ; 

Was ever deed so foul ! 

Cecil. Nay, ’t was a dream : 

None have been near you ; we have watched you 
well 

Through all the night. 

Eliz. Oh, no, for I was there, 

Waiting God’s judgment, for my task was done, 
When here he hurled me back. 

Cecil. What ’s here been done 

Weighs on thy soul? 

Eliz. Nay, they came all to me. 

I feared them not ; for justice gave me stay 
Until he came and slew me back to earth ; 
Unheard, unjudged. 

Cecil \aside\. Was ever dream 
So foul contrived as this ? 

Eliz. Take me away : 

This place is horrible ; for in that dark 
I see his dagger that doth bar me thence, 

Denying way to God. 

Cecil. Dear majesty, 

’T is now the dead of night : bide till the morn ; 
Then we will hence. 

Eliz. 


Away ! Ere cock doth crow 


The Passing of the Queen 121 
Beside this hold, that knife will pierce again. 

Send me once more to death, if there be room 
In all God’s realm to die. Oh, let me creep 
Into the earth and hide me in a grave 
Where waking comes not. — Let me to my folk, — 
Y ea, to the vilest who sleep in the streets, — 

That I may lay me by their sinful hearts 
And there forget this shame. 

[Queen, Cecil, and Attendants go forth 
into the darkness . 


End of Act Fourth . 


ACT FIFTH 

SCENE I 

Palace. 

Cecil and Dames of the Court . 

Cecil. 

T is her majesty ? 

Dame. So low of heart ; 

ie takes nor food nor rest. Whatever 
came 

To fright her there stays with her ceaselessly ; 

She raves of him, yet trembles at his name 
And rages if we speak it. 

Cecil. *T is mere dream 

That lasteth past the waking. 

Dame. Nay ; she saw 

More there than we, and our hearts still are 
cold 

With what came in that night. 

Cecil. Go to with that ! 

I watched the night out there beside her door ; 



The Passing of the Queen 123 
All was at peace until she started up 
As child from out its sleep. Ye help her spin 
This fatal web of fancy round her soul. 

She ’s old and worn, — that second childhood 
comes 

When darkness frights again. Make light of it 
And keep all bright about her : ’t is the time 
When all who owe her grace must seek her 

j°y> 

Wear merry faces, hail the morn to her. 

And plot for morning when the night shuts 
in, 

So it be but a step. 

Dame. But we saw there — 

Cecil. As all may see ye are a pack of fools, — 
Cracked wits who slay her. Go no more to 
her: 

I ’ll find some wholesome wenches for your 
task 

Who ’ve helped their grannies die and know as 
well 

To nurse a life out as to help it in. 

End of Scene . 


124 The Passing of the Queen 


SCENE II 

Queen’s Chamber. 

Elizabeth, with sword piercing hangings . 
Elizabeth [alone] . Slay, slay, my task is still to 
slay. Oh God, 

Why hast thou made this woman for such deeds 
And shut her out from death ? 

Enter Cecil. 

Come, Cecil, come 

And pluck this sword from out my palsied hand. 
You set it there a weary age agone : 

Break it to dust and cast it in the deep 

That it may no more harm. — Bind me in chains 

So that the demon who hath me enslaved 

Use me no more for murther. 

[Cecil goes to her , takes the sword , and 
leads her to couch . 

Cecil. Rest ye here. 

This is mere idle fancy, for my Queen 
Hath given life, not*death, unto her kind. 

Eliz. Nay, hadst thou seen the weary host that 
went 

From dark to dark beside me, thou wouldst 
know 


The Passing of the Queen 125 
The blood that ’s on my soul. He was the last ; 
So God appointed him to hurl me back 
Upon this reeking earth. 

Cecil. Nay, my dear liege, 

I looked upon you all the while you slept ; 

What came to you comes to a weary child 
Of frighting dreams the sun was made to send 
Back to the dark. Forget it in this day 
When God wraps earth in glory. — Wake you 
now; 

’T is not your wont to marvel. 

Eliz. Oh, my wont ! 

All wonted things are strange. I’m in a maze. 

I knew thee not, my Cecil, — saw thy sire ; 

In thy dear crooked shape I thought him shrunk 
Before that woeful vision. Have me forth ; 
Mayhap my fields will cleanse me. 

Cecil. Would ye go 

To see an ancient soldier who doth pray 
His Queen may look once more on his blind 
eyes 

And bless his passing ? 

Eliz. Ay, that I will do ; 

It will be good to see a brave man die 
Who goes in hope, who fancies I can give 
Blessing to help him there. Who is the man ? 


126 The Passing of the Queen 
Cecil. His name we know not, though he ’s 
dwelt an age 

Beside your gate, — much as an ancient dog, 
Watching his master, asketh nought but chance 
To nip a knave who cometh over near. 

Your people know him well : e’en since he’s blind 
They trust his scent of danger, for he knows 
Who comes by some strange sense ; he ’s often 
warned 

When warning else had lacked. Yea, he hath been 
Your surest warder. 

Eliz. Why knew I not of this ? 

Such service lifts my heart. 

Cecil. So ’t was his will 

Ye should not know: ’twas in his mind to give 
And have no pay; else here he would not bide. 
The beggar ’s proud : he hath his bit of land 
That gives him bread ; he seeketh for no more. 
He ’s of your yeomen who have stayed your throne 
Since time men set it here. 

Eliz. Beggar forsooth ! 

I go beside a king who largess gives 

With thought of no return, whose head is crowned 

With faith like this. Haste ! let us forth to him. 

[Exeunt. 


End of Scene. 


The Passing of the Queen 127 


SCENE III 

A Cottage. 

Dying old man in bed . Old woman by him. 
Enter Elizabeth and Cecil. 
Elizabeth. Peace be with ye. \Goes to bedside . 
Cecil. He is the man who came 

Beside ye in the throng : you took his hand 
And thanked him for his greeting. 

Eliz. He is more ; 

Death brings him youth again. Where, where ? — 
The deep hath sent him back. — Oh Robin, Robin ! 
At last thou’rt here. \Taking Robin’s hand. 

Robin. Our England’s lass is good : 

I knew she ’d bless an old man when he asked 
Her touch before he went. I go away 
Leaving my watch before ’t is time to go. 

For she bides here. I will her coming wait 
There at His port and ward her in His realm 
If she hath need of warding. 

Eliz. Would I were there: 

With thee beside me, Robin, I were safe. 

Whoever might assail. 

Robin. Our England’s lass ! 

All worlds will lend her shelter, for our Lord 
Knows her His faithful servant. 


128 The Passing of the Queen 
Eliz. Nay, Robin, 

This world is very ill. What our eyes saw 
When God’s day blessed them with its hope and joy 
Hath turned to dust before us. E’en our fields 
Are lean of men to keep this England’s realm ; 
They give no more of harvests. 

Robin. Yea, our lass 

Is sick as on that day of long ago. — 

[Raises himself and points from window. 
Look forth, my Queen, and see your noble land ; 
When you came here to rule it, it was sere, 

For evils sapped its root. See how it blooms ; 

See all our youth who bless ye, for they know 
Y e opened them the ways of field and deep ; 

Hear of the old who die, — how they have fared 
Along the happy ways that ye made safe 
And blessed with love that never king before 
Gave to a loving folk. Look forth and live 
Forever here and there. [ Sinks hack insensible . 

Eliz. Farewell, dear heart ; 

Thy parting leaveth peace. — Into yon dark 
I ’ll follow thee unfearing. 

Robin. Hail ! Christ, I come, 

The herald of my Queen. 

[Robin dies. Elizabeth kneels beside him. 
Eliz. [ prays J. Have mercy. Lord, 


The Passing of the Queen 129 
Upon Thy servant, he Thy faithful priest 
Who led this woman from her night to day ; 

Give her to have him still when sight grows dim 
As Thou dost part the body and the soul. 

For light upon her way. [Rising, she closes Rob- 
in’s eyesi] Oh dear blind eyes. 

That saw so well and true, that fearless see 
God on His throne. [To Cecil.] This dust be- 
longs to them ; 

His heart Christ’s own on earth ever to bide 
Helping all faithful lest they sink and die 
As cowards by their graves. — Faith, faith, true 
faith, 

I ’ve sought thee far for half a hundred years 
At last to find thee dead beside my door 
Where thou hast dwelt alway. Nay, nay, not 
dead, 

But gone as seed to earth, God’s word to hearts 
To spring forever in true faith of man. 

[To Womani\ Thou wert his wife ? 

Wife. Yea, yea, he ’s all mine own. 

We are not parted ; though he lies here dead 
He ’s but a step away. I ’ll soon to him ; 

He ’ll wait me, my true man. 

Eliz. My dame, this world 

Doth set some chosen on its noble thrones 


130 The Passing of the Queen 
And crowns them with wide realms, but never 
king 

Hath from it diadem to match thine own 
In this man’s faithful love. Yea, the bare crumbs 
Of what he gave thee is all they can have 
To keep their souls from starving; and they 
hope. 

If they be hopeful, in the trust that heaven 
Hath like to still their pain. We ’ll weep awhile 
Together by this silence ; then we’ll cry 
Hosannas to the Lord who sent him here 
To stay our hearts ; who bade him on before 
To guide our trembling feet beyond the dark. 

[Elizabeth bends over widow ; then> 
rising , looks away . 

Cecil. My liege is sorely worn. 

Eliz. Nay, Cecil, strong : 

My limbs are nerved as when in that far day 
He sprang before the block and hurled them 
back 

Who drave me on to it ; or on that morn 
When forth he called my fevered soul and sent 
Earth’s glory for my healing. I have health, 

God’s health to stay me on the way I go ; 

For he is not a phantom but a man. 

End of Scene . 


The Passing of the Queen 13 i 

SCENE IV 

The Tower. 

Cecil and Bacon, looking forth . 

Cecil. Our sun goes down. 

Bacon. It sets into a storm, 

A weary wrack of storm, and the fair sky. 

With dawn of morning new, waits far away. — 

Is she at peace; ? 

Cecil. Alas! there is no peace ; 

For the fierce life of body fights to stay 
And rends the soul with battle for its right, 
Screaming with terror at the utter death 
That waits its weary dust. Her Tudor strength, 
Earth loving, holds to earth ; her better part 
Clamoureth to be free. The mighty fear. 

That once o’ermastered, hath now slunk away, 
Shamed by that ancient’s valour. She has now 
Only the sorry mortal part to do 
That lies ’twixt life and death. 

Bacon. This life is good. 

And past it lie wide fields where good must lie, 
For they be wide ; and yet a space between 
Is the abode of beasts all fierce and foul. 

Happy the man who leaps it at a bound, 


132 The Passing of the Queen 

With sword in hand and victory in eyes. 

To light before God’s throne, — whose eager 
heart 

Doth know one beat on earth, the next in 
heaven. — 

We have our comfort knowing in these pangs 
The soul doth stay above them. What we see 
Of choking breath and vainly clutching hands 
Comes not of what we take, but what we leave. 
That striveth ’gainst the parting when it sees 
The dear companionship is nearly done. 

Cecil [ absently ]. What of our morrow? 

Bacon. Here ? 

Cecil. Ay, when she ’s gone. 

Bacon. She’s made that for us and the sun 
she ’ll see 

No more will shine upon her England, — safe. 
Because ’t is hers and evermore shall be 
Bred of her valour, nurtured by her love. 

Firm founded on the trust she gave her folk : 

Care not for that — the worst can only mar. 

Enter Chamberlain . 

Chamberlain. It comes, my lords, it comes ; 
and in her eyes 
We see she ’d have ye near. 

End of Scene. 


[Exeunt. 


The Passing of the Queen 133 


SCENE V 

Throne Room of Palace. 
Elizabeth on cushions beside throne . Lord 

Howard, Sir Robert Carey, Physicians and 
Ladies . 

Lord Howard [aside to Physician ]. How near 
is it ? 

Physician. My lord, ’t is very near. 

’T is a lost battle verging to its end ; 

’Fore night she will win peace. 

Elizabeth [to Howard]. Good cousin, let me 
drink. I ’m dry at heart. [Drinks. 

That stays my burning. — Good Lord, give me 
sleep, — 

Thy staying sleep. 

Lord Howard. My liege should to her bed. 
Eliz. Nay, nay, for in that bed I ’ve seen dire 
things 

I dare not face again. My guide is far, 

Yet there ; I hear his voice and still am brave. 

But if that other comes, — yea, then I die 
Into the utter dark. I long no more, 

Save for God’s blessed sleep. [She sleeps . 

Lady. She dies, she dies ! 


134 The Passing of the Queen 
Phys. Nay, dame, be still, for yet she may 
awake ; 

*T is a rude cry you send. [Elizabeth wakes . 

Eliz. Nay, not so swift ; 

For I am old and weary, and ye go 
Quick on this way. 

Cecil. My Queen, you cannot rest 

Here in this sorry way ; you must to bed. 

Eliz. Ah, little man, ‘must’ is not for kings* 
ears, — 

Were thy great father here, he durst not give 
Command unto his Queen. Thou know’st I die 
And wax presumptuous. — Nay, that is too hard; 
For thou hast served me well and with true 
faith. 

Albeit thine eyes have long looked far past me 
To signs of him who comes. — I pardon that ; 

So part we as good friends. 

Cecil. My Queen, my Queen — 

Eliz. Nay, I know all and pardon. Let that 
be 

The finish of it. [To Bacon.] Ah, my philoso- 
pher, 

Your wisdom bides with me in my sore pain ; 

It is remembered well, though here I lie 
A sullen hulk upon the sands of time. 


The Passing of the Queen 135 

Waiting the sea that whelms me. [Sinks backl\ Oh, 
dear guide. 

Thy voice is near. — Now would I be alone 
With but my kinsmen by me and my priest. 

[Others go out silently . 
End of Scene . 


SCENE VI 

Room in Palace. 

Bacon and Cecil. 

Bacon. What hast thou done with Scotland that 
she knows 

And sets against thy faith ? 

Cecil. What needs be done 

To keep this realm in safety, — what she would 
Had it been hers to do. 

Bacon. It smote her hard. 

For she doth hate him, and to feel his hand 
Upon her crown is bitterer than death. 

*T was an ill deed ; ’t were better thou hadst left 
This creeping to the knaves. 

Cecil. It is my task 

To serve this kingdom ; it has been my joy 
To serve my Queen and none have faithfuller 


136 The Passing of the Queen 
Stood ’twixt herself and ills. — Those deeds are 
done 

And time may reckon them. He who comes 
here 

Comes as a king ; his way needs be prepared. 

So had she willed it had she not been slain 
By that would-be usurper : what now goes 
Is but the wreck he left, the mangled life 
He still doth rend. 

Bacon. Yea, but she loves him still ; 

He left his villain here and bore away 
The noble that it hid. 

Cecil. She loves no more. 

For in that night he sent her some strange fear 
That conquered her. She hath a woman’s soul 
And needs to lean upon the strength of man. 

God sent her that brave yeoman for a guide 
And now she clings to him : he leads her on 
Where no one else can help. 

Bacon. He is her folk 

Summed in a single life of faithfulness 
Laid at her feet. 


End of Scene . 


\Exeunt . 


i 


The Passing of the Queen 137 
SCENE VII 

Chamber of the Queen. 

Elizabeth on couch , dying ; Howard, Carey, 
Archbishop of Canterbury , and Women . 
Elizabeth. Let me have music, for this place 
is still 

And groweth dark : ’t will echo me his voice. 

[Music* plays ; choir sings. 
Star of the morning shining in our night , 

Guiding in darkness to our dear God's day , 

Cloud shall hinder never; "Thou dost shine for- 
ever y 

Leading weary pilgrims on Thy blessed way. 
Dear are our fields that send their harvests 
home ; 

Night is upon them yet Thy star doth keep 
Watch of their glory , ward of all their hope , 

So that the true hearts may their harvest reap — 
What though the sea may whelm us in its 
waves , 

What though the night stay ever , yet His star 
Knoweth His way and leadeth to His feet — 
Eliz. My people, Oh my people ! 

Woman. Her last cry. — 


138 The Passing of the Queen 
Howard \to Archbishop ]. Lend her His com- 
fort, for the trial comes. 

Archbishop [kneeling]. Oh God of all. Oh Christ, 
who knew our death 

That Thou mightst help Thy servants in their pain. 
Come to this faithful woman, hold her fast 
In Thy strong arms and hush her heart to fear. 

Oh God, she is Thy child, she goes to Thee 
All weary, stained, and broken by this world 
Where she hath been Thy servant all her days; 
Yea, faithful e’en in sin, for she hath loved 
Thy sheep and sheltered them in every storm. 
Loved all Thou gav’st of glory to this earth. 

Thy blessed fields of land and sea and sky. 

And in them loved, unknowing, Thy dear self. 
Save her, Oh Lord, that we have hearts of joy 
When we come to Thy house to find her there. 

[ Pauses . Elizabeth opens her eyes. 
Dear Christ, we know Thee near, for in her eyes 
We see Thy glory light her parting soul ; 

She goeth from us, but our hearts are glad 
In all our sorrow, for she goes to Thee, — 

To peace eternal and the hope of days 
In Thy green pastures and Thy quiet folds. 
Remember, Lord, how she hath suffered long 
In the fierce anguish that Thy servants bear 


The Passing of the Queen 139 
Who rule the kingdoms of this earth to Thee. 

She goeth as the soldier who doth hie 
From hard-won fight with battle in his heart 
And soul all wounded. — Comfort her, Oh 
Lord ; 

Hearken the prayer that riseth from this land 
Unto Thy throne, that Thou wouldst know their 
love 

And bless it with Thine own. 

Woman. Oh, now she sleeps. 

Archbishop. Ay, in Christ’s arms she sleeps, 
a little child 
Upon her way to God. 

End of Scene, 


SCENE VIII 

The Way to Westminster. 

Throng silently waiting . 

Blind Old Woman [to Child ]. What see’st 
thou, child ? 

Child. A world of people, dame ; 

They all are still. 

Old Woman. Ay, it is still as night. — 

Child, I remember when she came this way 


140 The Passing of the Queen 
To take her crown. It was a whirlwind then. 

We sang and cried for joy ; and now she comes 
To find her grave. ’T was fifty years agone. 

And Smithfield’s embers smouldered on yon hill. 
Child. See, granny, they all kneel. 

Old Woman. See for me, child ; 

I see no more. 

Child. And now it comes afar ; 

And now the folk lament. 

Old Woman. What see they there ? 

Child. Herself upon the bier all robed and 
crowned 

And in her hands her sceptre. She is fair 
As Queen may be. 

Old Woman. ’T is but her image, child; 
Her body, old and worn, is hid within, 

Too sad for seeing. 

Cry, ye people, cry, — 

Cry to our God for joy that she hath been ; 

Cry in our woe, for she hath from us gone. 

Send us, Oh Lord, good shelter in our need; 

Save us. Thy people, from the wolves she drave 
Forth from these fields. Remember, Lord, our 
pain 

We bore so long before she came to be 

Thy faithful shepherd. Send her soul, Oh God, 


The Passing of the Queen 141 
To stay Thy servant who doth take her crown 
That we may burn no more. 

Old Man. Oh Christ, dear Lord, 

Have mercy on Thy people. Give her folk 
To go the way she went in faith to land 
With trust in Thee. Give us the strength to 
bide 

Good warders of Thy hold she kept for Thee, 

So that no battle raging o’er the seas 

Nor foes in heart may harm Thy faithful realm. 

[. Procession enters Abbey , choir singing . 
Lord , to Thy house we bear her body in ; 

Give it Thy shelter , keep it in Thy love ; 

Take from her soul the stain of all her sin. 

Lead her , O Lord , unto Thy heaven above . 

Hail, land and sea , your lover , who doth go 
Unto her rest , for she was brave and true ; 

Hail her, ye folk, for never here below 
Cometh a lover to her love so true . 

Child. They ’ve gone into God’s house, and 
all is still : 

Shall we go there ? 

Old Woman. Nay, child, now lead me home ; 
’T is dark in my old heart, and God’s own day 
Alone can give me morning. She is dead 


142 The Passing of the Queen 
We blind folks stayed to see. Ah, while she 
lived 

There was good light for us : we loved her well ; 
Yea, when our hearts were sorest, in her words 
We found the hope we longed for. Oh my child, 
J T is a scant world without her. — Not so fast, 
For I am old and weary. — She is gone. 

[Zr led away by Child . 


End of "The Passing of the Queen. 


EPILOGUE 


ERE lies a woman dead who mother 
was 

Unto a land of men. She knew its 
fields 

And loved them with a love that harvest saw 
Even in winter’s dearth, and counted gains 
In noble youth unborn. Here lies she still 
As a mere clod turned by the plough of fate 
And trodden in its furrow. 

There is a silence in this land she made 
Merry with hopeful days : in tower and cot 
They bow them weeping ; yea, her ancient foes 
Look sadly down the way where she hath gone, 

As those who ’d blistered ’neath the fiery sun 
Would look upon his setting if they knew 
Thereafter came no morn. 

There is a silence on the sea she gave 

The glory of brave deeds. The ships that come 

Over the arch know sorrow in the pall 



144 Epilogue 

That hangs o’er waited port. The ships that go 
To far-off lands have sorrow for their freight ; 

A sad, reluctant burthen they must bear 
To realms whereto her soul once filled the sails, 
Bearing brave messages. 

4 % 


M5§^®£THOU who from the darkness sendestdeath 
To guide our days, to tell Thou dost abide 
Within this mystery that shapes our lives. 




Help us to know Thy glory in the sign 
Set in these mortal shapes, Thy messengers 
Who are for time our kings. Help us to see 
What it doth mean that they from lasting dark 
Bring to our eyes Thy light, then hie away 
Unto Thy silence. 


The night forgetting lark climbs up the sky, 
Leaving his trail of song. The falling stars 
That live a moment in the firmament 
Cast glory in their train as on they go 
Again to darkness. But these heralds true 
Who wear Thy blazon on their noble fronts, 

With everlasting trumpets from the vault 
That compasses Thy realm, hail Thee their Lord. 



Epilogue 145 

As in an ancient wood where majesties 
Sprung from king-making earth, together lift 
Their mighty crowns unto o’erarching sky, 

Each shaping other as through noble years 
They gather strength from sun, so grew she there 
In the great forest of her English folk, 

Waxed to her ripened splendour ’fore her fall ; 
Then in the waiting stillness of a morn 
When, storms forgot, the ranger hies him forth 
Into the shadowed silence all unstirred 
Save by the far-up chanting of the birds 
Or hum of swarming bees that seek new hives. 
Afar he hears a roar as some great ship 
Faring on unseen sea had cast away 
Upon a sightless strand : a sullen roar 
And then the silence of the closed deep, — 

So knows the ranger his brave monarch gone 
Unto the dust he treads. 

She came at even to that western sea, 

The noble journey ended. Of the realms 
That rose to greet her, there is left the sands 
Trod by the wintry surge of memory. 

And to the vast unfathomable went 

The sun that lit her faring, — sun that shone 

To her glad eyes from out the eyes of men 


146 Epilogue 

Wherein she found the very light of heaven. 
That light went to the deep, and she died there 
With it into the darkness. 


Her brave days 

This earth shall know no more, and yet they glow 
As twilight on the verge of earth and sky 
To tell that past our winter marches on 
The glorious pageant unto far-off lands. 

Sing of the morning, ye who bide in night 
And keep the welcome of awaited day 
Ringing before his portals. Cry ye wait 
Stout-hearted ’gainst the siege of all his foes, 

And willing die upon the battlements 
Ye hold for him. 


ERE part we from this woman as men part 
From leader brave who gave them victory, 
When by their planted banners, in the grave 
They silent earth his dust. All washed away 
The stains of battle by his comrades’ tears. 

Forgot all lesser in the greater deeds 

Done faithfully for man. They are bowed down, 

Stilled by their mournful office, but their hearts 



Epilogue 147 

Sing like the bugles when he hurled them on 
As conquering sea against the foeman’s wall. 

Now earth ’s upon his splendour, forth there rings 
The prophet’s cry to Time that they have laid 
The seed of empires in that new-made grave, 

That death is life so life be nobly lived ; 

The tomb its changeless throne; its dust a crown 
Jewelled by love of man. 


Ah, here we know 

That sorrow vast and vain for ages gone, 

For beauty turned to dust, for voices still 
That waked forgotten love to ecstasy. 

For all the souls we know kin to our own 
With whom we never can exchange a cry 
Across the gulf that parts us. — Give to Time 
His fill of our dear store ; let to his sea 
Go down our treasured earth, and sun, and stars. 
Until the all is void, if he but send 
Back to our hearts the hearts of other days: 
Then will the spaces glow as never yet 
For all their orbed splendours. 


148 


Epilogue 


AREWELL, ye shadows, dear substantial 
shades 

Who once ennobled realms yet stooped to 
grace 

Our day with light of many a vanished face 
And tale of deeds immortal. — Now it fades, 

That vast procession, and the dark invades 
The wide arched days we looked on ; yea, the place 
Shrinks to this earth ball where the idle chase 
Of living ghosts the ways ye trod degrades. — 

But look again : behold, it opens wide, 

That starry realm all lit with light of eyes 

The dark can never quench. Once more it glows 

With the eternal dawning that arose 

When He bade men to be, and to it hies 

The comrade brave who parts him from our side. 

Farewell, dear mistress, master of our days, 

Thy mighty sceptre, jewelled with the names 
That paved thee paths of empire through war’s 
flames 

Or in the hearts of men, points on to ways 
Thy children aye shall tread. Thy subject stays 
Abashed before thee and would hide his shame 
For what is done and undone in the game 



Epilogue 149 

That fancy free with majesties e'er plays. 

He 'fore thy lifted might would with thee plead 
'T was thy enfranchisement that made him free. 
And, if that serves not, ere thou hast his head, 

O noble Queen, take thou his heart instead, 

For in his seeming sport all reverently 
He laid upon thy shrine each idle deed. 

Come to the hearth whereon we lit of old 
For old hearts' warming faggots from the wood 
Where shaped the Armada's ships. Yea, it was 
good. 

Though 'twas but foxfire and our blood stays cold. 
The flame is out, the beakers drained, their gold 
Cast to the hungering sea, and the brave mood 
Our song from darkness to our day there wooed 
Hath gone to emptiness ; the tale is told. 

Yet past the deep mayhap 't will ring again, — 
That everlasting tale of brave and true. 

Of men and women who on earth swung free 
As stately planets in the stellar sea. 

Swayed by the might of God ; and we anew 
And nearer know the glory of that train. 


The End. 


(£be fttoerjjibe 

Electrotyped and printed by H. O. Houghton &> Co. 
Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. 


















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NOV 7 1903 


































































































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